LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Chap. Ta - Copyright No.._>A_l. 
Shelf _il.O_DeL 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



36554 

Librai'/ of Congress 

^ wo Copies Recejved 
AUG 20 1900 

Copyright entry 

SECOND COPY. 

Dfetiverad to 

ORDER DIVISION, 

AUG 27 i90U 



t^: 



Copyright, 1900, kv W. B. Conkey Company. 

68746 



<3- 



^ EVANGELINE, 

A TALE OF ACADIA 



This is the forest primeval. The murmur- 
ing pines and the hemlocks, 

Bearded with moss, and in garments green, 
indistinct in the twilight, 

Stand like Druids of old, with voices sad and 
prophetic, 

Stand like harpers hoar, with beards that rest 
on their bosoms. 

Loud from its rocky caverns, the deep-voiced 
neighboring ocean 

Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers 
the wail of the forest. 

This is the forest primeval ; but where are 
the hearts that beneath it 
Leaped like a roe, when he hears in the wood- 
land the voice of the huntsman? 
Where is the thatch-roofed village, the home 
of Acadian farmers — 
3 



4 EVANGELINE, 

Men whose lives glided on like rivers that 
water the woodlands, 

Darkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting 
an image of heaven? 

Waste are those pleasant farms, and the farm- 
ers forever departed ! 

Scattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty 
blasts of October 

Seize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle 
them far o'er the ocean. 

Nought but tradition remains of the beautiful 
village of Grand- Pre. 

Ye who believe in affection that hopes, and 

endures, and is patient. 
Ye who believe in the beauty and strengtb of 

woman's devotion, 
List to the mournful tradition still sung by the 

pines of the forest ; 
List to a Tale of Love in Acadia, home of the 

happy. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 



PART THE FIRST. 
I. 

In the Acadian land, on the shores of the Basin 

of Minas, 
Distant, secluded, still, the little village of 

Grand-Pre 
Lay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows 

stretched to the eastward. 
Giving the village its name, and pasture to 

flocks without number. 
Dikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised 

with labor incessant. 
Shut out the turbulent tides ; but at stated sea- 
sons the flood-gates 
Opened, and welcomed the sea to wander at 

will o'er the meadows. 
West and south there were fields of flax, and 

orchards and cornfields 
Spreading afar and unfenced o'er the plain; 

and away to the northward 
Blomidon rose, and the forests old, and aloft 

on the mountains 



6 EVANGELINE, 

Sea- fogs pitched their tents, and mists from 
the mighty Atlantic 

Looked on the happy valley, but ne'er from 
their station descended. 

There, in the midst of its farms, reposed the 
Acadian village. 

Strongly built were the houses, with frames of 
oak and of hemlock, 

Such as the peasants of Normandy built in the 
reign of the Henries. 

Thatched were the roofs, with dormer-win- 
dows ; and gables projecting 

Over the basement below protected and shaded 
the doorway. 

There in the tranquil evenings of summer, 
when brightly the sunset 

Lighted the village street, and gilded the vanes 
on the chimneys, 

Matrons and maidens sat in snow-white caps 
and in kirtles 

Scarlet and blue and green, with distaffs spin- 
ning the golden 

Flax for the gossiping looms, whose noisy shut- 
tles within doors 

Mingled their sound with the whirr of the 
wheels and the songs of the maidens. 

Solemnly down the street came the parish 
priest, and the children 



A TALE OF ACADIA, 7 

Paused in their play to liiss the hand he ex- 
tended to bless them. 

Reverend walked he among them ; and up rose 
matrons and maidens, 

Hailing his slow approach with words of affec- 
tionate welcome. 

Then came the laborers home from the field, 
and serenely the sun sank 

Down to his rest, and twilight prevailed. Anon 
from the belfry 

Softly the Angelus sounded, and over the roofs 
of the village 

Columns of pale blue smoke, like clouds of in- 
cense ascending, 

Rose from a hundred hearths, the homes of 
peace and contentment. 

Thus dwelt together in love these simple Aca- 
dian farmers, — 

Dwelt in the love of God and of man. Alike 
were they free from 

Fear, that reigns with the tyrant, and envy, 
the vice of republics ; 

Neither locks had they to their doors, nor bars 
to their windows ; 

But their dwellings were open as day and the 
hearts of the owners ; 

There the richest was poor, and the poorest 
lived in abundance. 



8 EVANGELINE. 

Somewhat apart from the village, and nearer 

the Basin of Minas, 
Benedict Bellefontaine, the wealthiest farmer 

of Grand-Pre, 
Dwelt on his goodly acres; and with him, 

directing his household. 
Gentle Evangeline lived, his child, and the 

pride of the village. 
Stalworth and stately in form was the man of 

seventy winters; 
Hearty and hale was he, an oak that is covered 

with snow-flakes; 
White as the snow were his locks, and his 

cheeks as brown as the oak-leaves. 
Fair was she to behold, that maiden of seven- 
teen summers, 
Black were her eyes as the berry that grows 

on the thorn by the wayside, — 
Black, yet how softly they gleamed beneath 

the brown shade of her tresses ! 
Sweet was her breath as the breath of kine that 

feed in the meadows, 
When in the harvest heat she bore to the reap- 
ers at noontide 
Flagons of home-brewed ale, ah ! fair in sooth 

was the maiden. 
Fairer was she when, on Sunday morn, while 

the bell from its turret 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 9 

Sprinkled with holy sounds the air, as the 
priest with his hyssop 

Sprinkles the congregation, and scatters bless- 
ings upon them, 

Down the long street she passed, with her 
chaplet of beads and her missal, 

Wearing her Norman cap, and her kirtle of 
blue, and the ear-rings, 

Brought in the olden time from France, and 
since, as an heirloom, 

Handed down from mother to child, through 
long generations. 

But a celestial brightness — a more ethereal 
beauty — 

Shone on her face and encircled her form, 
when, after confession. 

Homeward serenely she walked with God's 
benediction upon her. 

When she had passed, it seemed like the ceas- 
ing of exquisite music. 

Firmly builded with rafters of oak, the house 

of the farmer 
Stood on the side of a hill commanding the 

sea: and a shady 
Sycamore grew by the door, with a woodbine 

wreathing around it. 



10 EVANGELINE, 

Rudely carved was the porch, with seats be- 
neath ; and a footpath 
Led through an orchard wide, and disappeared 

in the meadow. 
Under the sycamore-tree were hives overhung 

by a penthouse. 
Such as the traveller sees in regions remote by 

the roadside, 
Built o'er a box for the poor, or the blessed 

image of Mary. 
Farther down, on the slope of the hill, was the 

well with its moss-grown 
Bucket, fastened with iron, and near it a 

trough for the horses. 
Shielding the house from storms, on the north 

were the barns and the farm-yard, 
There stood the broad- wheeled wains and the 

antique ploughs and the harrows ; 
There were the folds for the sheep ; and there, 

in his feathered seraglio, 
Strutted the lordly turkey, and crowed the 

cock, with the self-same 
Voice that in ages of old had startled the peni- 
tent Peter. 
Bursting with hay were the barns, themselves 

a village. In each one 
Far o'er the gable projected a roof of thatch; 

and a stairca?^. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 11 

Under the sheltering eaves, led up to the odor- 
ous corn-loft. 

There too the dove-cote stood, with its meek 
and innocent inmates 

Murmuring ever of love ; while above in the 
• variant breezes 

Numberless noisy weathercocks rattled and 
sang of mutation. 

Thus, at peace with God and the world, the 
farmer of Grand- Pre 

Lived on his sunny farm, and Evangeline gov- 
erned his household. 

Many a youth, as he knelt in the church and 
opened his missal, 

Fixed his eyes upon her as the saint of the 
deepest devotion ; 

Happy was he who might touch her hand or 
the hem of her garment ! 

Many a suitor came to her door, by the dark- 
ness befriended, 

And, as he knocked and waited to hear the 
sound of her footsteps, 

Knew not which beat the louder, his heart or 
the knocker of iron ; 

Or at the joyous feast of the Patron Saint of 
the village, 



12 EVANGELINE. 

Bolder grew, and pressed her hand in the dance 

as he whispered 
Hurried words of love, that seemed a part of 

the music. 
But, among all who came, young Gabriel only 

was welcome ; — 
Gabriel Lajeunesse, the son of Basil, the black- 
smith. 
Who was a mighty man in the village, and 

honored of all men ; 
For, since the birth of time, throughout all 

ages and nations, 
Has the craft of the smith been held in repute 

by the people. 
Basil was Benedict's friend. Their children 

from earliest childhood 
Grew up together as brother and sister; and 

Father Felician, 
Priest and pedagogue both, in the village, had 

taught them their letters 
Out of the self-same book, with the hymns of 

the church and the plain song. 
But when the hymn was sung, and the daily 

lesson completed, 
Swiftly they hurried away to the forge of Basil, 

the blacksmith. 
There at the door they stood, with wondering 

eyes to behold him 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 13 

Take in his leathern lap the hoof of the horse 

as a pla3^thing', 
Nailing the shoe in its place; while near him 

the tire of the cart-wheel 
Lay like a fiery snake, coiled round in a circle 

of cinders. 
Oft on autumnal eves, when without in the 

gathering darkness 
Bursting with light seemed the smithy, through 

every cranny and crevice, 
Warm by the forge within they watched the 

laboring bellows, 
And as its panting ceased, and the sparks ex- 
pired in the ashes. 
Merrily laughed, and said they were nuns go- 
ing into the chapel. 
Oft on sledges in winter, as swift as the swoop 

of the eagle, 
Down the hillside bounding, they glided away 

o'er the meadow. 
Oft in the barns they climbed to the populous 

nests on the rafters. 
Seeking with eager eyes that wondrous stone, 

which the swallow 
Brings from the shore of the sea to restore the 

sight of its fledglings ; 
Lucky was he who found that stone in the nest 

of the swallow ! 



14 EVANGELINE, 

Thus passed a few swift years, and they no 

longer were children. 
He was a valiant youth, and his face like the 

face of the morning, 
Gladdened the earth with its light, and ripened 

thought into action. 
She was a woman now, with the heart and 

hopes of a woman. 
"Sunshine of Saint Eulalie" was she called; 

for that was the sunshine 
Which, as the farmers believed, would load 

their orchards with apples; 
She, too, would bring to her husband's house 

delight and abundance, 
Filling it full of love and the ruddy faces of 

children. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 15 



II. 



Now had the season returned, when the nights 
grow colder and longer, 

And the retreating sun the sign of the Scor- 
pion enters. 

Birds of passage sailed through the leaden air 
from the ice-bound. 

Desolate northern bays to the shores of tropi- 
cal islands. 

Harvests were gathered in ; and wild with the 
winds of September 

Wrestled the trees of the forest, as Jacob of 
old with the angel. 

All the signs foretold a winter long and incle- 
ment. 

Bees, with prophetic instinct of want, had 

hoarded their honey- 
Till the hives overflowed ; and the Indian hunt- 
ers asserted 

Cold would the winter be, for thick was the 
fur of the foxes. 

Such was the advent of autumn. Then fol- 
lowed that beautiful season, 



16 EVANGELINE, 

Called by the pious Acadian peasants the Sum- 
mer of All-Saints! 

Filled was the air with a dreamy and magical 
light ; and the landscape 

Lay as if new created in all the freshness of 
childhood. 

Peace seemed to reign upon earth, and the 
restless heart of the ocean 

Was for a moment consoled. All sounds were 
in harmony blended. 

Voices of children at play, the crowing of 
cocks in the farm-yards, 

Whirr of wings in the drowsy air, and the coo- 
ing of pigeons, 

All were subdued and low as the murmurs of 
love, and the great sun 

Looked with the eye of love through the golden 
vapors around him ; 

While arrayed in its robes of russet and scarlet 
and yellow. 

Bright with the sheen of the dew, each glitter- 
ing tree of the forest 

Flashed like the plane-tree the Persian adorned 
with mantles and jewels. 

Now recommenced the reign of rest and affec- 
tion and stillness. 

Day with its burden and heat had departed, 
and twilight descending 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 17 

Brought back the evening star to the sky, and 

the herds to the homestead, 
Pawing the ground they came, and resting 

their necks on each other, 
And with their nostrils distended inhaling the 

freshness of evening. 
Foremost, bearing the bell, Evangeline's beau- 
tiful heifer, 
Proud of her snow-white hide, and the ribbon 

that waved from her collar. 
Quietly paced and slow, as if conscious of 

human affection. 
Then came the shepherd back with his bleating 

flocks from the seaside, 
Where was their favorite pasture. Behind 

them followed the watch-dog, 
Patient, full of importance, and grand in the 

pride of his instinct, 
Walking from side to side with a lordly air, 

and superbly 
Waving his bushy tail, and urging forward 

the stragglers; 
Regent of flocks was he when the shepherd 

slept ; their protector. 
When from the forest at night, through the 

starry silence, the wolves howled. 
Late, with the rising moon, returned the wains 

from the marshes, 

2 Evangeline 



18 EVANGELINE, 

Laden with briny hay, that filled the air with 

its odor. 
Cheerily neighed the steeds, with dew on their 

manes and their fetlocks, 
While aloft on their shoulders the wooden and 

ponderous saddles, 
Painted with brilliant dyes, and adorned with 

tassels of crimson, 
Nodded in bright array, like hollyhocks heavy 

with blossoms. 
Patiently stood the cows meanwhile, and yielded 

their udders 
Unto the milkmaid's hand; whilst loud and in 

regular cadence 
Into the sounding pails the foaming streamlets 

descended. 
Lowing of the cattle and peals of laughter 

were heard in the farm* yard, 
Echoed back by the barns. Anon they sank 

into stillness; 
Heavily closed, with a jarring sound, the 

valves of the barn-doors. 
Rattled the wooden bars, and all for a season 

was silent. 

In-doors, warm by the wide-mouthed fire- 
place, idly the farmer 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 19 

Sat in his elbow-chair, and watched how the 

flames and the smoke-wreaths 
Struggled together like foes in a burning city. 

Behind him, 
Nodding and mocking along the wall, with 

gestures fantastic. 
Darted his own huge shadow, and vanished 

away into darkness. 
Faces, clumsily carved in oak, on the back of 

his arm-chair 
Laughed in flickering light, and the pewter 

plates on the dresser 
Caught and reflected the flame, as shields of 

armies the sunshine. 
Fragments of song the old man sang, and carols 

of Christmas, 
Such as at home, in the olden time, his fathers 

before him 
Sang in their Norman orchards and bright 

Burgundian vineyards. 
Close at her father's side was the gentle Evan- 
geline seated. 
Spinning flax for the loom, that stood in the 

corner behind her. 
Silent awhile were its treadles, at rest was its 

diligent shuttle, 
While the monotonous drone of the wheel, 

like the drone of a bagpipe, 



20 EVANGELINE, 

Followed the old man's song, and united the 

fragments together. 
As in a church, when the chant of the choir at 

intervals ceases, 
Footfalls are heard in the aisles, or words of 

the priest at the altar. 
So, in each pause of the song, with measured 

motion the clock clicked. 

Thus as they sat, there were footsteps heard, 

and, suddenly lifted, 
Sounded the wooden latch, and the door swung 

back on its hinges. 
Benedict knev/ by the hob-nailed shoes it was 

Basil the blacksmith. 
And by her beating heart Evangeline knew 

who was with him. 
**Welcome!" the farmer exclaimed, as their 

footsteps paused on the threshold, 
"Welcome, Basil, my friend! Come, take thy 

place on the settle 
Close by the chimney-side, which is always 

empty without thee ; 
Take from the shelf overhead thy pipe and the 

box of tobacco ; 
Never so much thyself art thou as when 

through the curling 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 21 

Smoke of the pipe or the forge thy friendly and 

jovial face gleams 
Round and red as the harvest moon through 

the mist of the marshes." 
Then, with a smile of content, thus answered 

Basil the blacksmith, 
Taking with easy air the accustomed seat by 

the fireside: — 
*' Benedict Bellefontaine, thou hast ever thy jest 

and thy ballad ! 
Ever in cheerfulest mood art thou, when others 

are filled with 
Gloomy forebodings of ill, and see only ruin 

before them. 
Happy art thou, as if every day thou hadst 

picked up a horseshoe. " 
Pausing a moment, to take the pipe that Evan- 
geline brought him. 
And with a coal from the embers had lighted, 

he slowly continued : — 
*'Four days now are passed since the English 

ships at their anchors 
Ride in the Gaspereau's mouth, with their 

cannon pointed against us. 
What their design may be is unknown ; but all 

are commanded 
On the morrow to meet in the church, where 

his Majesty's mandate 



22 EVANGELINE, 

Will be proclaimed as law in the land. Alas! 

in the meantime 
Many surmises of evil alarm the hearts of the 

people. ' ' 
Then made answer the farmer: — "Perhaps 

some friendlier purpose 
Brings these ships to our shores. Perhaps the 

harvests in England 
By untimely rains or untimelier heat have 

been blighted, 
And from our bursting barns they would feed 

their cattle and children," 
"Not so thinketh the folk in the village," said 

warmly, the blacksmith, 
Shaking his head, as in doubt; then, heaving 

a sigh, he continued : — 
"Louisburg is not forgotten, nor Beau Sejour, 

nor Port Royal. 
Many already have fled to the forest, and lurk 

on its outskirts. 
Waiting with anxious hearts the rubious fate 

of to-morrow. 
Arms have been taken from us, and warlike 

weapons of all kinds ; 
Nothing is left but the blacksmith's sledge and 

the scythe of the mower. ' ' 
Then with a pleasant smile made answer the 

jovial farmer : — 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 23 

"Safer are we unarmed, in the midst of our 

flocks and our cornfields, 
Safer within these peaceful dikes, besieged by 

the ocean, 
Than our fathers in forts, besieged by the 

enemy's cannon. 
Fear no evil, my friend, and to-night may no 

shadow of sorrow 
Fall on this house and hearth ; for this is the 

night of the contract. 
Built are the house and the barn. The merry 

lads of the village 
Strongly have built them and well ; and, break- 
ing the glebe round about them, 
Filled the barn v/ith hay, and the house with 

food for a twelvemonth. 
Rene Leblanc will be here anon, with his 

papers and inkhorn. 
Shall we not then be glad, and rejoice in the 

joy of our children?" 
As apart by the window she stood, with her 

hand in her lover's. 
Blushing Evangeline heard the words that her 

father had spoken, 
And, as they died on his lips, the worthy no- 
tary entered. 



24 EVANGELINE, 



III. 



Bent like a laboring oar, that toils in the surf 

of the ocean, 
Bent, but not broken, by age was the form of 

the notary public ; 
Shocks of yellow hair, like the silken floss of 

the maize, hung 
Over his shoulders; his forehead was high; 

and glasses with horn bows 
Sat astride on his nose, with a look of wisdom 

supernal. 
Father of twenty children was he, and more 

than a hundred 
Children's children rode on his knee, and heard 

his great watch tick. 
Four long years in the times of the war had he 

languished a captive, 
Suffering much in an old French fort as the 

friend of the English. 
Now, though warier grown, without all guile 

or suspicion. 
Ripe in wisdom was he, but patient, and sim- 
ple, and childlike. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 25 

He was beloved by all, and most of all by the 

children ; 
For he told them tales of the Loup-garou in 

the forest, 
And of the goblin that came in the night to 

water the horses, 
And of the white Letiche, the ghost of a child 

who unchristened 
Died, and was doomed to haunt unseen the 

chambers of children ; 
And how on Christmas eve the oxen talked in 

the stable, 
And how the fever was cured by a spider shut 

up in a nutshell, 
And of the marvellous powers of four-leaved 

clover and horseshoes, 
With whatsoever else was writ in the lore of 

the village. 
Then up rose from his seat by the fireside 

Basil the blacksmith, 
Knocked from his pipe the ashes, and slowly 

extending his right hand, 
*' Father Leblanc," he exclaimed, "thou hast 

heard the talk in the village, 
And, perchance, canst tell us some news of 

these ships and their errands. ' ' 
Then with modest demeanor made answer the 

notary public, — 



26 EVANGELINE. 

*' Gossip enough have I heard, in sooth, yet am 
never the wiser ; 

And what their errand may be I know not bet- 
ter than others. 

Yet am I not of those who imagine some evil 
intention 

Brings them here, for we are at peace ; and 
why then molest us?" 

*' God's name!" shouted the hasty and some- 
what irascible blacksmith ; 

*'Must we in all things look for the how, and 
the why, and the wherefore? 

Daily injustice is done, and might is the right 
of the strongest!" 

But, without heeding his warmth, continued 
the notary public, — 

*'Man is unjust, but God is just; and finally 
justice 

Triumphs ; and well I remember a story, that 
often consoled me, 

When as a captive I lay in the old French fort 
at Port Royal." 

This was the old man's favorite tale, and he 
loved to repeat it 

When his neighbors complained that any injus- 
tice was done them. 

*'Once in an ancient city, whose name I no 
longer remember. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 27 

Raised aloft on a column, a brazen statue of 

Justice 
Stood in the public square, upholding the 

scales in its left hand. 
And in its right a sword, as an emblem that 

justice presided 
Over the laws of the land, and the hearts and 

homes of the people. 
Even the birds had built their nests in the 

scales of the balance, 
Having no fear of the sword that flashed in the 

sunshine above them. 
But in the course of time the laws of the land 

were corrupted; 
Might took the place of right, and the weak 

were oppressed, and the mighty 
Ruled with an iron rod. Then it chanced in a 

nobleman's palace 
That a necklace of pearls was lost, and ere long 

a suspicion 
Fell on an orphan girl who lived as maid in 

the household. 
She, after form of trial condemned to die on 

the scaffold. 
Patiently met her doom at the foot of the statue 

of Justice. 
As to her Father in heaven her innocent spirit 

ascended, 



28 EVANGELINE. 

Lo! o'er the city a tempest rose ; and the bolts 

of the thunder 
Smote the statue of bronze, and hurled in 

wrath from its left hand 
Down on the pavement below the clattering 

scales of the balance, 
And in the hollow thereof was found the nest 

of a magpie, 
Into whose clay-built walls the necklace of 

pearls was inwoven." 
Silenced, but not convinced, when the story 

was ended, the blacksmith 
Stood like a man who fain would speak, but 

findeth no language ; 
All his thoughts were congealed into lines on 

his face, as the vapors 
Freeze in fantastic shapes on the window- 
panes in the winter. 

Then Evangeline lighted the brazen lamp 

on the table, 
Filled, till it overflowed, the pewter tankard 

with home-brewed 
Nut-brown ale, that was famed for its strength 

in the village of Grand- Pre; 
While from his pocket the notary drew his 

papers and inkhorn. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 29 

Wrote with a steady hand the date and the age 

of the parties, 
Naming the dower of the bride in flocks of 

sheep and in cattle. 
Orderly all things proceeded, and duly and 

well were completed, 
And the great seal of the law was set like a 

sun on the margin. 
Then from his leathern pouch the fanner 

threw on the table 
Three times the old man's fee in solid pieces 

of silver ; 
And the notary rising, and blessing the bride 

and the bridegroom. 
Lifted aloft the tankard of ale and drank to 

their welfare. 
Wiping the foam from his lip, he solemnly 

bowed and departed. 
While in silence the others sat and mused by 

the fireside. 
Till Evangeline brought the draught-board out 

of its corner. 
Soon was the game begun. In friendly con- 
tention the old men 
Laughed at each lucky hit, or unsuccessful 

manoeuvre. 
Laughed when a man was crowned, or a breach 

was made in the king-row. 



30 EVANGELINE, 

Meanwhile apart, in the twilight gloom of a 
window's embrasure, 

Sat the lovers, and whispered together, behold- 
ing the moon rise 

Oyer the pallid sea and the silvery mist of the 
meadows. 

Silently one by one, in the infinite meadows of 
heaven, 

Blossomed the lovely stars, the forget-me-nots 
of the angels. 

Thus was the evening passed. Anon the 

bell from the belfry 
Rang out the hour of nine, the village curfew, 

and straightway 
Rose the guests and departed; and silence 

reigned in the household. 
Many a farewell word and sweet good-night on 

the door-step 
Lingered long in Evangeline's heart, and filled 

it with gladness. 
Carefully then were covered the embets that 

glowed on the hearth-stone. 
And on the oaken stairs resounded the tread of 

the farmer. 
Soon with a soundless step the foot of Evange- 
line followed. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 31 

Up the staircase moved a luminous space in 
the darkness, 

Lighted less by the lamp than the shining face 
of the maiden. 

Silent she passed the hall, and entered the door 
of her chamber. 

Simple that chamber was, with its curtains of 
white, and its clothes-press 

Ample and high, on whose spacious shelves 
were carefully folded 

Linen and woolen stuffs, by the hand of Evan- 
geline woven. 

This was the precious dower she would bring 
to her husband in marriage, 

Better than flocks and herds, being proofs of 
her skill as a housewife. 

Soon she extinguished her lamp, for the mel- 
low and radiant moonlight 

Streamed through the windows, and lighted 
the room, till the heart of the maiden 

Swelled and obeyed its power, like the tremu- 
lous tides of the ocean. 

Ah! she was fair, exceeding fair to behold, as 
she stood with 

Naked snow-white feet on the gleaming floor 
of her chamber ! 

Little she dreamed that below, among the trees 
of the orchard, 



32 EVANGELINE, 

Waited her lover and watched for the gleam 
of her lamp and her shadow. 

Yet were her thoughts of him, and at times a 
feeling of sadness 

Passed o'er her soul, as the sailing shade of 
clouds in the moonlight 

Flitted across the floor and darkened the room 
for a moment. 

And, as she gazed from the window, she sa\x 
serenely the moon pass 

Forth from the folds of a cloud, and one star 
follow her footsteps. 

As out of Abraham's tent young Ishmael wan- 
dered with Hagar! 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 33 



IV. 



Pleasantly rose next morn the sun on the vil- 
lage of Grand-Pre. 

Pleasantly gleamed in the soft, sweet air the 
Basin of Minas, 

Where the ships, with their wavering shadows, 
were riding at anchor. 

Life had long been astir in the village, and 
clamorous labor 

Knocked with its hundred hands at the golden 
gates of the morning. 

Now from the country around, from the farms 
and neighboring hamlets, 

Came in their holiday dresses the blithe Aca- 
dian peasants. 

Many a glad good-morrow and jocund laugh 
from the young folk 

Made the bright air brighter, as up from the 
numerous meadows. 

Where no path could be seen but the track of 
wheels in the greensward, 

Group after group appeared, and joined or 
passed on the highway. 

3 Evangeline 



34 EVANGELINE, 

Long ere noon, in the village all sounds of 
labor were silenced. 

Thronged were the streets with people ; and 
noisy groups at the house-doors 

Sat in the cheerful sun, and rejoiced and gos- 
siped together. 

Every house was an inn, where all were wel- 
comed and feasted ; 

For with this simple people, who lived like 
brothers together. 

All things were held in common, and what one 
had was another's. 

Yet under Benedict's roof hospitality seemed 
more abundant: 

For Evangeline stood among the guests of her 
father ; 

Bright was her face with smiles, and words of 
welcome and gladness 

Fell from her beautiful lips, and blessed the 
cup as she gave it. 

Under the open sky, in the odorous air of the 

orchard, 
Stript of its golden fruit, was spread the feast 

of betrothal. 
There in the shade of the porch were the priest 

and the notary seated; 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 35 

There good Benedict sat, and sturdy Basil the 
blacksmith. 

Not far withdrawn from these, by the cider- 
press and the bee-hives, 

Michael the fiddler was placed, with the gayest 
of hearts and of waistcoats. 

Shadow and light from the leaves alternately 
played on his snow-white 

Hair, as it waved in the wind ; and the jolly 
face of the fiddler 

Glowed like a living coal when the ashes are 
blown from the embers. 

Gayly the old man sang to the vibrant sound 
of his fiddle, 

Tous les Bourgeois de Chartres, and Le Carillon 
de Dtmkerque, 

And anon with his wooden shoes beat time to 
the music. 

Merrily, merrily whirled the wheels of the diz- 
zying dances 

Under the orchard-trees and down the path to 
the meadows ; 

Old folk and young together, and children 
mingled among them. 

Fairest of all the maids was Evangeline, Bene- 
dict's daughter! 

Noblest of all the youths was Gabriel, son of 
the blacksmith! 



36 EVANGELINE, 

So passed the morning away. And lo! with 

a summons sonorous 
Sounded the bell from its tower, and over the 

meadows a drum beat. 
Thronged ere long was the church with men. 

Without, in the churchyard. 
Waited the women. They stood by the graves, 

and hung on the headstones 
Garlands of autumn-leaves and evergreens 

fresh from the forest. 
Then came the guard from the ships, and 

marching proudly among them 
Entered the sacred portal. With loud and dis- 
sonant clangor 
Echoed the sound of their brazen drums from 

ceiling and casement, — 
Echoed a moment only, and slowly the ponder- 
ous portal 
Closed, and in silence the crowd awaited the 

will of the soldiers. 
Then uprose their commander, and spake from 

the steps of the altar. 
Holding aloft in his hands, with its seals, the 

royal commission. 
"You are convened this day," he said, "by his 

Majesty's orders. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 37 

Clement and kind has he been ; but how you 

have answered his kindness, 
Let your own hearts reply! To my natural 

make and my temper 
Painful the task is I do, which to you I know 

must be grievous. 
Yet must I bow and obey, and deliver the will 

of our monarch ; 
Namely, that all your lands, and dwellings, and 

cattle of all kinds 
Forfeited be to the crown ; and that you your- 
selves from this province 
Be transported to other lands. God grant you 

may dwell there 
Ever as faithful subjects, a happy and peace- 
able people ! 
Prisoners now I declare you ; for such is his 

Majesty's pleasure!" 
As, when the air is serene in the sultry solstice 

of summer. 
Suddenly gathers a storm, and the deadly sling 

of the hailstones 
Beats down the farmer's corn in the field and 

shatters his windows, 
Hiding the sun, and strewing the ground with 

thatch from the house-roofs, 
Bellowing fly the herds, and seek to break their 

enclosures ; 



38 EVANGELINE, 

So on the hearts of the people descended the 
words of the speaker. 

Silent a moment they stood in speechless won- 
der, and then rose 

Louder and ever louder a wail of sorrow and 
anger, 

And, by one impulse moved, they madly rushed 
to the door- way. 

Vain was the hope of escape ; and cries and 
fierce imprecations 

Rang through the house of prayer; and high 
o'er the heads of the others 

Rose, with his arms uplifted, the figure of Basil 
the blacksmith. 

As, on a stormy sea, a spar is tossed by the 
billows. 

Flushed was his face, and distorted with pas- 
sion; and wildly he shouted, — 

"Down with the tyrants of England! we never 
have sworn them allegiance ! 

Death to these foreign soldiers, who seize on 
our homes and our harvests!" 

More he fain would have said, but the merci- 
less hand of a soldier 

Smote him upon the mouth, and dragged hini 
down to the pavement. 

In the midst of the strife and tumult of angry 
contention 



A TALE OF ARCADIE. 39 

Lo! the door of the chancel opened, and Father 

Felician 
Entered, with serious mien, and ascended the 

steps of the altar. 
Raised his reverend hand, with a gesture he 

awed into silence 
All that clamorous throng; and thus he spake 

to his people ; 
Deep were his tones and solemn ; in accents 

measured and mournful 
Spake he, as, after the tocsin's alarum, dis- 
tinctly the clock strikes. 
*'What is this that ye do, my children? what 

madness has seized you? 
Forty years of my life have I labored among 

you, and taught you, 
Not in word alone, but in deed, to love one 

another ! 
Is this the fruit of my toils, of my vigils and 

prayers and privations? 
Have you so soon forgotten all lessons of love 

and forgiveness? 
This is the house of the Prince of Peace, and 

would you profane it 
Thus with violent deeds and hearts overflowing 

with hatred? 
Lo ! where the crucified Christ from his cross 

is gazing upon you ! 



40 EVANGELINE. 

See ! in those sorrowful eyes what meekness 

and holy compassion ! 
Hark I how those lips still repeat the prayer, 

'O Father, forgive them!' 
Let us repeat that prayer in the hour when the 

wicked assail us, 
Let us repeat it now, and say, 'O Father, for- 
give them ! ' " 
Few were his words of rebuke, but deep in the 

hearts of his people 
Sank they, and sobs of contrition succeeded 

the passionate outbreak, 
While they repeated his prayer, and said, *'0 

Father, forgive them ! ' ' 

Then came the evening service. The tapers 
gleamed from the altar. 

Fervent and deep was the voice of the priest, 
and the people responded, 

Not with their lips alone, but their hearts; and 
the Ave Maria 

Sang they, and fell on their knees, and their 
souls, with devotion translated. 

Rose on the ardor of prayer, like Elijah ascend- 
ing to heaven. 

Meanwhile had spread in the village the tid- 
ings of ill, and on all sides 




" He was beloved by the children." — Page 25. 

Evangeline. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 41 

Wandered, wailing, from house to house the 

women and children. 
Long at her father's door Evangeline stood, 

with her right hand 
Shielding her eyes from the level rays of the 

STin, that, descending. 
Lighted the village street with mysterious 

splendor, and roofed each 
Peasant's cottage with golden thatch, and 

emblazoned its windows. 
Long within had been spread the snow-white 

cloth on the table ; 
There stood the wheaten loaf, and the honey 

fragrant with wild-flowers ; 
There stood the tankard of ale, and the cheese 

fresh brought from the dairy ; 
And, at the head of the board, the great arm- 
chair of the farmer. 
Thus did Evangeline wait at her father's door, 

as the sunset 
Threw the long shadows of trees o'er the broad 

ambrosial meadows. 
Ah ! on her spirit within a deeper shadow had 

fallen. 
And from the fields of her soul a fragrance 

celestial ascended, — 
Charity, meekness, love, and hope, and for- 
giveness, and patience ! 



42 EVANGELINE, 

Then, all-forgetful of self, she wandered into 

the village, 
Cheering with looks and words the mournful 

hearts of the women, 
As o'er the darkening fields with lingering 

steps they departed. 
Urged by their household cares, and the weary 

feet of their children. 
Down sank the great red sun, and in golden, 

glimmering vapors 
Veiled the light of his face, like a Prophet 

descending from Sinai. 
Sweetly over the village the bell of the Angelus 

sounded. 

Meanwhile, amid the gloom, by the church 

Evangeline lingered. 
All was silent within ; and in vain at the door 

and the windows 
Stood she, and listened and looked, till, over- 
come by emotion, 
*' Gabriel!" cried she aloud with tremulous 

voice ; but no answer 
Came from the grave of the dead, nor the 

gloomier grave of the living. 
Slowly at length she returned to the tenantless 

house of her father. 
Smouldered the fire on the hearth, on the board 

was the supper unfasted, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 43 

Empty and drear was each room, and haunted 
with phantoms of terror. 

Sadly echoed her step on the stair and the floor 
of her chamber. 

In the dead of the night she heard the discon- 
solate rain fall 

Loud on the withered leaves of the sycamore- 
tree by the window. 

Keenly the lightning flashed ; and the voice of 
the echoing thunder 

Told her that God was in heaven, and gov- 
erned the world he created ! 

Then she remembered the tale she had heard 
of the justice of Heaven; 

Soothed was her troubled soul, and she peace- 
fully slumbered till morning. 



44 EVANGELINE, 



V. 

Four times the sun had risen and set ; and now 

on the fifth day 
Cheerily called the cock to the sleeping maids 

of the farm-house. 
Soon o'er the yellow fields, in silent and mourn- 
ful procession, 
Came from the neighboring hamlets and farms 

the Acadian women, 
Driving in ponderous wains their household 

goods to the sea-shore. 
Pausing and looking back to gaze once more on 

their dwellings, 
Ere they were shut from sight by the winding 

road and the woodland. 
Close at their sides their children ran, and 

urged on the oxen, 
While in their little hands they clasped some 

fragments of playthings. 

Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth they hurried, 
and there on the sea-beach 
Piled in confusion lay the household goods of 
the peasants. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 45 

All day long between the shore and the ships 
did the boats ply; 

All day long the wains came laboring down 
from the village. 

Late in the afternoon, when the sun was near 
to his setting, 

Echoed far o'er the fields came the roll of 
drums from the churchyard. 

Thither the women and children thronged. 
On a sudden the church-doors 

Opened, and forth came the guard, and march- 
ing in gloomy procession 

Followed the long-imprisoned, but patient, 
Acadian farmers. 

Even as pilgrims, who journey afar from their 
homes and their country. 

Sing as they go, and in singing forget they are 
weary and wayworn, 

80 with songs on their lips the Acadian peas- 
ants descended 

Down from the church to the shore, amid theii 
wives and their daughters. 

Foremost the young men came; and, raising 
together their voices, 

Sang with tremulous lips a chant of the Cath- 
olic Missions: — 

*' Sacred heart of the Saviour! O inexhaust- 
ible fountain! 



46 EVANGELINE, 

Fill our hearts this day with strength and sub- 
mission and patience!" 

Then the old men, as they marched, and the 
women that stood by the wayside 

Joined in the sacred psalm, and the birds in 
the sunshine above them 

Mingled their notes therewith, like voices of 
spirits departed. 

Half-way down to the shore Evangeline 
waited in silence. 

Not overcome with grief, but strong in the 
hour of affliction, — 

Calmly and sadly she waited, until the proces- 
sion approached her. 

And she beheld the face of Gabriel pale with 
emotion. 

Tears then 'filled her eyes, and, eagerly run- 
ning to meet him, 

Clasped she his hands, and laid her head on 
his shoulder, and whispered, — 

"Gabriel! be of good cheer! for if we love one 
another 

Nothing, in truth, can harm us, whatever mis- 
chances may happen!" 

Smiling she spake these words ; then suddenly 
paused, for her father 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 47 

Saw she slowly advancing. Alas ! how changed 

was his aspect ! 
Gone was the glow from his cheek, and the fire 

from his eye, and his footstep 
Heavier seemed with the weight of the heavy 

heart in his bosom. 
But with a smile and a sigh, she clasped his 

neck and embraced him, 
Speaking words of endearment where words of 

comfort availed not. 
Thus to the Gaspereau's mouth moved on that 

mournful procession. 

There disorder prevailed, and the tumult and 

stir of embarking. 
Busily plied the freighted boats; and in the 

confusion 
Wives were torn from their husbands, and 

mothers, too late, saw their children 
Left on the land, extending their arms, with 

wildest entreaties. 
So unto separate ships were Basil and Gabriel 

carried. 
While in despair on the shore Evangeline stood 

with her father. 
Half the task was not done when the sun went 

down, and the twilight 



48 EVANGELINE, 

Deepened and darkened around ; and in haste 

the refluent ocean 
Fled away from the shore, and left the line of 

the sand-beach 
Covered with waifs of the tide, with kelp and 

the slippery sea-weed. 
Farther back in the midst of the household 

goods and the wagons, 
Like to a gypsy camp, or a leaguer after a 

battle, 
All escape cut off by the sea, and the sentinels 

near them, 
Lay encamped for the night the houseless 

Acadian farmers. 
Back to its nethermost caves retreated the bel- 
lowing ocean. 
Dragging adown the beach the rattling pebbles, 

and leaving 
Inland and far up the shore the stranded boats 

of the sailors. 
Then, as the night descended, the herds 

returned from their pastures ; 
Sweet was the moist still air with the odor of 

milk from their udders; 
Lowing they waited, and long, at the wells 

known bars of the farm-yard, — 
Waited and looked in vain for the voice and 

the hand of the milk-maid. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 49 

Silence reigned in the streets ; from the church 

no Angelas sounded, 
Rose no smoke from the roofs, and gleamed 

no lights from the windows. 

But on the shores meanwhile the evening 
fires had been kindled. 

Built of the drift-wood thrown on the sands 
from wrecks in the tempest. 

Round them shapes of gloom and sorrowful 
faces were gathered. 

Voices of women were heard, and of men, and 
the crying of children. 

Onward from fire to fire, as from hearth to 
hearth in his parish, 

Wandered the faithful priest, consoling and 
blessing and cheering. 

Like unto shipwrecked Paul on Melita's des- 
olate sea-shore. 

Thus he approached the place where Evange- 
line sat with her father. 

And in the flickering light beheld the face of 
the old man, 

Haggard and hollow and wan, and without 
either thought or emotion. 

E'en as the face of a clock from which the. 
hands have been taken. 

4 Evangeline 



60 EVANGELINE, 

Vainly Evangeline strove with words and ca- 
resses to cheer him, 
Vainly offered him food; yet he moved not, 

he looked not, he spake not, 
But, with a vacant stare, ever gazed at the 

flickering fire-light. 
^''Benediciter' murmured the priest, in tones 

of compassion. 
More he fain would have said, but his heart 

was full, and his accents 
Faltered and paused on his lips, as the feet of 

a child on a threshold, 
Hushed by the scene he beholds, and the awful 

presence of sorrow. 
Silently, therefore, he laid his hand on the 

head of the maiden, 
Raising his tearful eyes to the silent stars that 

above them 
Moved on their way, unperturbed by the 

wrongs and sorrows of mortals. 
Then sat he down at her side, and they wept 

together in silence. 

Suddenly rose from the south a light, as in 
autumn the blood-red 
Moon climbs the crystal walls of heaven, and 
o'er the horizon 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 51 

Titan-like stretches its hundred hands upon 

mountain and meadow, 
Seizing the rocks and the rivers, and piling 

huge shadows together. 
Broader and ever broader it gleamed on the 

roofs of the village, 
Gleamed on the sky and the sea, and the ships 

that lay in the roadstead. 
Columns of shining smoke uprose, and flashes 

of flame were 
Thrust through their folds and withdrawn, like 

the quivering hands of a martyr. 
Then as the wind seized the gleeds and the 

burning thatch, and, uplifting, 
Whirled them aloft through the air, at once 

from a hundred house-tops 
Started the sheeted smoke with flashes of flame 

intermingled. 
These things beheld in dismay the crowd on 

the shore and on shipboard. 
Speechless at first they stood, then cried aloud 

in their anguish, 
"We shall behold no more our homes in the 

village of Grand-Pre!" 
Loud on a sudden the cocks began to crow in 

the farm-yards, 
Thinking the day had dawned ; and anon the 

lowing of cattle 



52 EVANGELINE, 

Came on the evening breeze, by the barking of 

dogs interrupted. 
Then rose a sound of dread, such as startles 

the sleeping encampments 
Far in the western prairies or forests that skirt 

the Nebraska, 
When the wild horses affrighted sweep by with 

the speed of the whirlwind, 
Or the loud bellowing herds of buffaloes rush 

to the river. 
Such was the sound that arose on the night, as 

the herds and the horses 
Broke through their folds and fences, and 

madly rushed o'er the meadows. 

Overwhelmed with the sight, yet speechless, 

the priest and the maiden 
Gazed on the scene of terror that reddened and 

widened before them ; 
And as they turned at length to speak to their 

silent companion, 
Lo ! from his seat he had fallen, and stretched 

abroad on the sea-shore 
Motionless lay his form, from which the soul 

had departed. 
Slowly the priest uplifted the lifeless head, 

and the maiden 
Knelt at her father's side, and wailed aloud in 

her terror. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 53 

Then in a swoon she sank, and lay with her 
head on his bosom. 

Through the long night she lay in deep, obliv- 
ious slumber ; 

And when she woke from the trance, she be- 
held a multitude near her. 

Faces of friends, she beheld, that were mourn- 
fully gazing upon her, 

Pallid, with tearful eyes, and looks of saddest 
compassion. 

Still the blaze of the burning village illumi- 
nated the landscape. 

Reddened the sky overhead, and gleamed on 
the faces around her. 

And like the day of doom it seemed to her 
wavering senses. « 

Then a familiar voice she heard, as it said to 
the people, — 

**Let us bury him here by the sea. When a 
happier season 

Brings us again to our homes from the un- 
known land of our exile, 

Then shall his sacred dust be piously laid in 
the churchyard. ' ' 

Such were the words of the priest. And there 
in haste by the sea-side. 

Having the glare of the burning village for 
funeral torches, 



64 EVANGELINE, 

But without bell or book, they buried the far- 
mer of Grand- Pre. 
And as the voice of the priest repeated the 

service of sorrow, 
Lo ! with a mournful sound, like the voice of 

a vast congregation. 
Solemnly answered the sea, and mingled its 

roar with the dirges. 
'Twas the returning tide, that afar from the 

waste of the ocean, 
With the first dawn of the day, came heaving 

and hurrying landward. 
Then recommenced once more the stir and 

noise of embarking ; 
And with the ebb of the tide the ships sailed 

out of the harbor, 
Leaving behind them the dead on the shore, 

and the village in ruins. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 55 



PART THE SECOND. 

I. 

Many a weary year had passed since the burn- 
ing of Grand-Pre, 
When on the falling tide the freighted vessels 

departed, 
Bearing a nation, with all its household gods, 

into exile, 
Exile without an end, and without an example 

in story. 
Far asunder, on separate coasts, the Acadians 

landed ; 
Scattered were they, like flakes of snow, when 

the wind from the northeast 
Strikes aslant through the fogs that darken the 

Banks of Newfoundland. 
Friendless, homeless, hopeless, they wandered 

from city to city. 
From the cold lakes of the North to sultry 

Southern savannas, — 
From the bleak shores of the sea to the lands 

where the Father of Waters 



56 EVANGELINE, 

Seizes the hills in his hands, and drags them 

down to the ocean. 
Deep in their sands to bury the scattered bones 

of the mammoth. 
Friends they sought and homes; and m.any, 

despairing, heart-broken, 
Asked of the earth but a grave, and no longer 

a friend nor a fireside. 
Written their history stands on tablets of stone 

in the churchyards. 
Long among them was seen a maiden who 

waited and wandered, 
Lowly and meek in spirit and patiently suffer- 
ing all things. 
Fair was she and young ; but, alas ! before her 

extended, 
Dreary and vast and silent, the desert of life, 

with its pathway 
Marked by the graves of those who had sor- 
rowed and suffered before her. 
Passions long extinguished, and hopes long 

dead and abandoned, 
As the emigrant's way o'er the Western desert 

is marked by 
Camp-fires long consumed, and bones that 

bleach in the sunshine. 
Something there was in her life incomplete, 

imperfect, unfinished; 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 57 

As if a morning of June, with all its music and 

sunshine, 
Suddenly paused in the sky, and, fading, slowly 

descended 
Into the east again, from whence it late had 

arisen. 
Sometimes she lingered in towns, till, urged 

by the fever within her. 
Urged by a restless longing, the hunger and 

thirst of the spirit. 
She would commence again her endless search 

and endeavor ; 
Sometimes in churchyards strayed, and gazed 

on the crosses and tombstones. 
Sat by some nameless grave, and thought that 

perhaps in its bosom 
He was already at rest, and she longed to 

slumber beside him. 
Sometimes a rumor, a hearsay, an inarticulate 

whisper. 
Came with its airy hand to point and beckon 

her forward. 
Sometimes she spake with those who had seen 

her beloved and known him. 
But it was long ago, in some far-off place or 

forgotten. 
^'Gabriel Lajeunesse!" they said; **0 yes! we 

have seen him 



58 EVANGELINE, 

He was with Basil the blacksmith, and both 
have gone to the prairies; 

Coureurs-des-Bois are they, and famous hunt- 
ers and trappers." 

"Gabriel Lajeunesse!" said others; "O yes! 
we have seen him. 

He is a Voyageur in the lowlands of Louisi- 
ana." 

Then would they say, ' ' Dear child ! why dream 
and wait for him longer? 

Are there not other youths as fair as Gabriel? 
others 

Who have hearts as tender and true, and spir- 
its as loyal? 

Here is Baptiste Leblanc, the notary's son, 
who has loved thee 

Many a tedious year; come, give him thy 
hand and be happy ! 

Thou art too fair to be left to braid St. Cather- 
ine's tresses." 

Then would Evangeline answer, serenely but 
sadly, '*I cannot! 

Whither my heart has gone, there follows my 
hand, and not elsewhere. 

For when the heart goes before, like a lamp, 
and illumines the pathway. 

Many things are made clear, that else be hid- 
den in darkness. ' ' 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 59 

Thereupon the priest, her friend and father- 
confessor, 

Said, with a smile, "O daughter! thy God thus 
speaketh within thee! 

"^Talk not of wasted affection -^ affection never 
was wasted ; 

If it enrich not the heart of another, its 
waters, returning- 

Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill 
them full of refreshment ; 

That which the fountain sends forth returns 
again to the fountain. 

Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish 
thy work of affection ! 

Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient en- 
durance is godlike. 

Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the 
heart is made godlike. 

Purified, strengthened, perfected, and ren- 
dered more worthy of heaven!" 

Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline 
labored and waited. 

Still in her heart she heard the funeral dirge of 
the ocean. 

But with its sound there was mingled a voice 
that whispered, "Despair not!" 

Thus did that poor soul wander in want and 
cheerless discomfort, 



60 EVANGELINE. 

Bleeding, barefooted, over the shards and 
thorns of existence. 

Let me essay, O Muse ! to follow the wander- 
er's footsteps; — 

Not through each devious path, each change- 
ful year of existence; 

But as a traveler follows a streamlet's course 
through the valley ; 

Far from its margin at times, and seeing the 
gleam of its water 

Here and there, in some open space, and at 
intervals only ; 

Then drawing nearer its banks, through syl- 
van glooms that conceal it. 

Though he behold it not, he can hear its con- 
tinuous murmur ; 

Happy, at length, if he find the spot where it 
reaches an outlet 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 61 



II. 

It was the month of May. Far down the 

Beautiful River, 
Past the Ohio shore and past the mouth of the 

Wabash, 
Into the golden stream of the broad and swift 

Mississippi, 
Floated a cumbrous boat, that was rowed by 

Acadian boatmen. 
It was a band of exiles ; a raft, as it were, from 

the shipwrecked 
Nation, scattered along the coast, now floating 

together. 
Bound by the bonds of a common belief and a 

common misfortune; 
Men and women and children, who, guided by 

hope or by heresay, 
Sought for their kith and their kin among the 

few-acred farmers 
On the Acadian coast, and the prairies of fair 

Opelousas. 
With them Evangeline went, and her guide, 

the Father Felician. 



62 EVANGELINE, 

Onward o'er sunken sands, through a wilder- 
ness sombre with forests, 

Day after day they glided adown the turbulent 
river; 

Night after night, by their blazing fires, 
encamped on its borders. 

Now through rushing chutes, among green 
islands, where plumelike 

Cotton-trees nodded their shadowy crests, they 
swept with the current. 

Then emerged into broad lagoons, where sil- 
very sand-bars 

Lay in the stream, and along the wimpling 
waves of their margin, 

Shining with snow-white plumes, large flocks 
of pelicans waded. 

Level the landscape grew, and along the shores 
of the river, 

Shaded by china-trees, in the midst of luxuri- 
ant gardens, 

Stood the houses of planters, with negro- 
cabins and dove-cots. 

They were approaching the region where 
reigns perpetual summer, 

Where through the Golden Coast, and groves 
of orange and citron. 

Sweeps with majestic curve the river away to 
the eastward. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 63 

They, too, swerved from their course; and, 
entering the Bayou of Plaquemine, 

Soon were lost in a maze of sluggish and devi- 
ous waters, 

Which, like a network of steel, extended in 
every direction. 

Over their heads the towering and tenebrous 
boughs of the cypress 

Met in a dusky arch, and trailing mosses in 
mid-air 

Waved liked banners that hang on the walls of 
ancient cathedrals. 

Deathlike the silence seemed, and unbroken, 
save by the herons 

Home to their roosts in the cedar-trees return- 
ing at sunset, 

Or by the owl, as he greeted the moon with 
demoniac laughter. 

Lovely the moonlight was as it glanced and 
gleamed on the water, 

Gleamed on the columns of cypress and cedar 
sustaining the arches, 

Down through whose broken vaults it fell as 
through chinks in a ruin. 

Dreamlike, and indistinct, and strange were all 
things around them ; 

And o'er their spirits there came a feeimg of 
wonder and sadness. — 



64 EVANGELINE. 

Strange forebodings of ill, unseen that cannot 
be compassed. 

As, at the tramp of a horse's hoof on the turf 
of the prairies, 

Far in advance are closed the leaves of the 
shrinking mimosa, 

So, at the hoof-beats of fate, with sad forebod- 
ings of evil. 

Shrinks and closes the heart, ere the stroke of 
doom has attained it. 

But Evangeline's heart was sustained by a 

vision, that faintly- 
Floated before her eyes, and beckoned her on 
through the moonlight. 

It was the thought of her brain that assumed 
the shape of a phantom. 

Through those shadowy isles had Gabriel wan- 
dered before her. 

And every stroke of the oar now brought him 
nearer and nearer. 

Then in his place, at the prow of the boat, 

rose one of the oarsmen. 
And, as a signal sound, if others like them per- 

adventure, 
Sailed on those gloomy and midnight streams, 

blew a blast on his bugle. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 65 

Wild through the dark colonades and corridors 

leafy the blast rang, 
Breaking the seal of silence, and giving tongues 

to the forest. 
Soundless above them the banners of moss just 

stirred to the music. 
Multitudinous echoes awoke and died in the 

distance, 
Over the watery floor, and beneath the rever- 
berant branches; 
But not a voice replied ; no answer came from 

the darkness; 
And, when the echoes had ceased, like a sense 

of pain was the silence. 
Then Evangeline slept ; but the boatmen rowed 

through the midnight, 
Silent at times, then singing familiar Canadian 

boat-songs. 
Such as they sang of old on their own Acadian 

rivers, 
While through the night were heard the mys- 
terious sounds of the desert. 
Far off, — indistinct, — as of wave or wind in 

the forest, 
Mixed with the whoop of the crane and the 

roar of the grim alligator. 

Thus ere another noon they emerged from 
the shades; and before them 

5 Evangeline 



66 EVANGELINE, 

Lay, in the golden sun, the lakes of the Atcha- 
falaya. 

Water-lilies, in myriads, rocked on the slight 
undulations 

Made by the passing oars, and, resplendent in 
beauty, the lotus 

Lifted her golden crown above the heads of the 
boatmen. 

Faint was the air with the odorous breath of 
magnolia blossoms. 

And with the heat of noon ; and numberless 
sylvan islands, 

Fragrant and thickly embowered with blosom- 
ing hedges of roses. 

Near to those shores they glided along, invited 
to slumber. 

Soon the fairest of these weary oars were sus- 
pended. 

Under the boughs of Wachita willows, that 
grew by the margin, 

Safely their boat was moored; and scattered 
about on the greensward, 

Tired with their midnight toil, the weary trav- 
elers slumbered. 

Over them vast and high extended the cope of 
a cedar. 

Swinging from its great arms, the trumpet- 
flower and the grapevine 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 67 

Hung their ladder of ropes aloft like the ladder 
of Jacob, 

On whose pendulous stairs the angels ascend- 
ing, descending, 

Were the swift humming-birds, that flitted 
from blossom to blossom. 

Such was the vision Evangeline saw as she 
slumbered beneath it. 

Filled was her heart with love, and the dawn 
of an opening heaven 

Lighted her soul in sleep with the glory of 
regions celestial. 

Nearer, ever nearer, among the numberless 

islands, 
Darted a light, swift boat, that sped away o'er 

the water, 
Urged on its course by the sinewy arms of 

hunters and trappers. 
Northward its prow was turned, to the land of 

the bison and beaver. 
At the helm sat a youth, with countenance 

thoughtful and careworn. 
Dark and neglected locks overshadowed his 

brow, and a sadness 
Somewhat beyond his years on his face was 

legibly written. 



68 EVANGELINE, 

Gabriel was it, who, weary with waiting, 

unhappy and restless, 
Sought in the Western wilds oblivion of self 

and of sorrow. 
Swiftly they glided along, close under the lee of 

the island, 
But by the opposite bank, and behind a screen 

of palmettos, 
So that they saw not the boat, where it lay 

concealed in the willows. 
All undisturbed by the dash of their oars, 

and unseen, were the sleepers. 
Angel of God, was there none to awaken the 

slumbering maiden. 
Swiftly they glided away, like the shade of a 

cloud on the prairie. 
After the sound of their oars on the tholes had 

died in the distance, 
As if from a magic trance the sleepers awoke, 

and the maiden 
Said with a sigh to the friendly priest, "O 

Father Felician! 
Something says in my heart that near me 

Gabriel wanders. 
Is it a foolish dream, an idle and vague super- 
stition? 
Or has an angel passed, and revealed the truth 

to my spirit?" 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 69 

Then, with a blush, she added, "Alas for my 

credulous fancy! 
Unto ears like thine such words as these have 

no meaning. " 
But made answer the reverend man, and he 

smiled as he answered, — 
"Daughter, thy words are not idle; nor are 

they to me without meaning. 
Feeling is deep and still ; and the word that 

floats on the surface 
Is as the tossing buoy, that betrays where 

the anchor is hidden. 
Therefore trust to thy heart, and to what the 

world calls illusions. 
Gabriel truly is near thee ; for not far away to 

the southward, 
On the banks of the Teche, are the towns of St. 

Maur and St. Martin. 
There the long-wandering bride shall be given 

again to her bridegroom. 
There the long-absent pastor regain his flock 

and his sheepfold. 
Beautiful is the land, with its prairies and 

forests of fruit-trees; 
Under the feet a garden of flowers, and the 

bluest of heavens 
Bending above, and resting its dome on the 

walls of the forest. 



70 EVANGELINE, 

They who dwell there have named it the Eden 
of Louisiana." 

With these words of cheer they arose and 
continued their journey. 

Softly the evening came. The sun from the 
western horizon 

Like a mag-ician extended his golden wand o'er 
the landscape. 

Twinkling vapors arose; and sky and water 
and forest 

Seemed all on fire at the touch, and melted 
and mingled together. 

Hanging between two skies, a cloud with edges 
of silver, 

Floated the boat, with its dripping oars, on the 
motionless water. 

Filled was Evangeline's heart with inexpres- 
sible sweetness. 

Touched by the magic spell, the sacred foun- 
tains of feeling 

Glowed with the light of love, as the skies and 
waters around her. 

Then from a neighboring thicket the mocking- 
bird, v/ildest of singers, 

Swinging aloft on a willow spray that hung 
o'er the water, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 71 

Shook from his little throat such floods of deli- 
rious music, 
That the whole air and the woods and the 

waves seemed silent to listen. 
Plaintive at first were the tones and sad ; then 

soaring to madness 
Seemed they to follow or guide the revel of 

frenzied Bacchantes. 
Single notes were then heard, in sorrowful, 

low lamentation ; 
Till, having gathered them all, he flung them 

abroad in derision. 
As when, after a storm, a gust of wind through 

the tree-tops 
Shakes down the rattling rain in a crystal 

shower on the branches. 
With such a prelude as this, and hearts that 

throbbed with emotion, 
Slowly they entered the Teche, where it flows 

through the green Opelousas, 
And, through the amber air, above the crest 

of woodland, 
Saw the column of smoke that arose from a 

neighboring dwelling; — 
Sounds of a horn they heard, and the distant 

lowing of cattle. 



72 EVANGELINE. 



III. 

Near to the bank of the river, o'ershadowed by- 
oaks, from whose branches 

Garlands of Spanish moss and of mystic mis- 
tletoe flaunted, 

Such as the Druids cut down with golden 
hatchets at Yule-tide, 

Stood, secluded and still, the house of the 
herdsman. A garden 

Girded it round about with a belt of luxuriant 
blossoms. 

Filling the air with fragrance. The house 
itself was of timbers 

Hewn from the cypress-tree, and carefully fit- 
ted together. 

Large and low was the roof ; and on slender 
columns supported, 

Rose-wreathed, vine-encircled, a broad and 
spacious veranda. 

Haunt of the humming-bird and the bee, ex- 
tended around it. 

At each end of the house, amid the flowers of 
the garden, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 73 

Stationed the dove-cots were, as love's perpet- 
ual symbol. 

Scenes of endless wooing, and endless conten- 
tions of rivals. 

Silence reigned o'er the place. The line of 
shadow and sunshine 

Ran near the tops of the trees ; but the house 
itself was in shadow, 

And from its chimney-top, ascending and 
slowly expanding 

Into the evening air, a thin blue column of 
smoke rose. 

In the rear of the house, from the garden gate, 
ran a pathway 

Through the great groves of oak to the skirts 
of the limitless prairie, 

Into whose sea of flowers the sun was slowly 
descending. 

Full in his track of light, like ships with shad- 
owy canvas 

Hanging loose from their spars in a motionless 
calm in the tropics. 

Stood a cluster of trees, with tangled cordage 
of grapevines. 

Just where the woodlands met the flowery 
surf of the prairie. 



74 EVANGELINE, 

Mounted upon his horse, with Spanish saddle 

and stirrups, 
Sat a herdsman, arrayed in gaiters and doublet 

of deerskin. 
Broad and brown was the face that from under 

the Spanish sombrero 
Gazed on the peaceful scene, with the lordly 

look of its master. 
Round about him were numberless herds of 

kine, that were grazing 
Quietly in the meadows, and breathing the 

vapory freshness 
That uprose from the river, and spread itself 

over the landscape. 
Slowly lifting the horn that hung at his side, 

and expanding 
Fully his broad, deep chest, he blew a blast, 

that resounded 
Wildly and sweet and far, through the still 

damp air of the evening. 
Suddenly, out of the grass the long white 

horns of the cattle 
Rose like flakes of foam on the adverse cur- 
rents of ocean. 
Silent a moment they gazed, then bellowing 

rushed o'er the prairie, 
And the whole mass became a cloud, a shade 

in the distance. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 75 

Then, as the herdsman turned to the house, 
through the gate of the garden 

Saw he the forms of the priest and the maiden 
advancing to meet him. 

Suddenly down from his horse he sprang in 
amazement, and forward 

Rushed with extended arms and exclamations 
of wonder; 

When they beheld his face, they recognized 
Basil the blacksmith. 

Hearty his welcome was, as he led his guests 
to the garden. 

There in an arbor of roses with endless ques- 
tion and answer 

Gave they vent to their hearts, and renewed 
their friendly embraces. 

Laughing and weeping by turns, or sitting 
silent and thoughtful. 

Thoughtful, for Gabriel came not; and now 
dark doubts and misgivings 

Stole o'er the maiden's heart; and Basil, some- 
what embarrassed. 

Broke the silence and said, "If you came by 
the Atchafalaya, 

How have you nowhere encountered my Ga- 
briel's boat on the bayous?" 
Over Evangeline's face at the words of Basil a 
shade passed. 



76 EVANGELINE, 

Tears came into her eyes, and she said, with a 

tremulous accent, 
"Gone? is Gabriel gone?" and, concealing her 

face on his shoulder, 
All her o'erburdened heart gave way, and she 

wept and lamented. 
Then the good Basil said, — and his voice grew 

blithe as he said it, — 
"Be of good cheer, my child; it is only to-day 

he departed. 
Foolish boy! he has left me alone v/ith my 

herds and my horses. 
Moody and restless grown, and tried and 

troubled, his spirit 
Could no longer endure the calm of this quiet 

existence, 
Thinking ever of thee, uncertain and sorrowful 

ever. 
Ever silent, or speaking only of thee and his 

troubles, 
He at length had become so tedious to men and 

to maidens. 
Tedious even to me, that at length T bethought 

me, and sent him 
Unto the town of Adays to trade for mules 

with the Spaniards. 
Thence he will follow the Indian trails to the 

Ozark Mountains, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 77 

Hunting for furs in the forests, on rivers trap- 
ping the beaver. 

Therefore be of good cheer ; we will follow the 
fugitive lover; 

He is not far on his way, and the Fates and 
the streams are against him. 

Up and away to-morrow, and tihrough the red 
dew of the morning 

We will follow him fast, and bring him back to 
his prison." 

Then glad voices were heard, and up from 

the banks of the river. 
Borne aloft on his comrades* arms, came 

Michael the fiddler. 
Long under Basil's roof had he lived like a god 

on Olympus, 
Having no other care than dispensing music to 

mortals. 
Far renowned was he for his silver locks and 

his fiddle. 
*'Long live Michael," they cried, "our brave 

Acadian minstrel!" 
As they bore him aloft in triumphal procession; 

and straightway 
Father Felician advanced with Evangeline, 

greeting the old man 



78 EVANGELINE, 

Kindly and oft, and recalling the past, while 

Basil, enraptured, 
Hailed with hilarious joy his old companions 

and gossips. 
Laughing loud and long, and embracing 

mothers and daughters. 
Much they marveled to see the wealth of the 

cidevant blacksmith. 
All his domains and his herds, and his patri- 
archal demeanor; 
Much they marveled to hear his tales of the 

soil and the climate. 
And of the prairies, whose num^berless herds 

were his who would take them ; 
Each one thought in his heart, that he, too, 

would go and do likewise. 
Thus they ascended the steps, and, crossing the 

breezy veranda, 
Entered the hall of the house, where already 

the supper of Basil 
Waited his late return ; and they rested and 

feasted together. 

Over the joyous feast the sudden darkness 
descended. 
All was silent without, and, illuming the 
landscape with silver, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 70 

Fair rose the dewy moon and the myriad 

stars; but within doors, 
Brighter than these, shone the faces of friends 

in the glimmering lamplight. 
Then from his station aloft, at the head of the 

table, the herdsman 
Poured forth his heart and his wine together 

in endless profusion. 
Lighting his pipe, that was filled with sweet 

Natchitoches tobacco, 
Thus he spake to his guests, who listened, and 

smiled as they listened : — 
** Welcome once more, my friends, who long 

have been friendless and homeless, 
Welcome once more to a home, that is better 

perchance than the old one! 
Here no hungry winter congeals our blood like 

the rivers; 
Here no stony ground provokes the wrath of 

the farmer. 
Smoothly the ploughshare runs through the 

soil, as a keel through the water. 
All the year round the orange-groves are in 

blossom ; and grass grows 
More in a single night than a whole Canadian 

summer. 
Here, too, numberless herds run wild and 

unclaimed in the prairies ; 



80 EVANGELINE, 

Here, too, lands may be had for the asking, 

and forests of timber 
With a few blows of the axe are hewn and 

framed into houses. 
After your houses are built, and your fields are 

yellow with harvests, 
No King George of England shall drive you 

away from your homesteads, 
Burning your dwellings and barns, and steal- 
ing your farms and your cattle. ' ' 
Speaking these words, he blew a wrathful 

cloud from his nostrils. 
While his huge, brown hand came thundering 

down on the table, 
So that the guests all started; and Father 

Felician, astounded, 
Suddenly paused, with a pinch of snuff half- 
way to his nostrils. 
But the brave Basil resumed, and his words 

were milder and gayer : — 
*'Only beware of the fever, my friends, beware 

of the fever ! 
For it is not like that of our cold Acadian 

climate, 
Cured by wearing a spider hung round one's 

neck in a nutshell ! ' ' 
Then there were voices heard at the door, and 

footsteps approaching 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 81 

Sounded upon the stairs and the floor of the 
breezy veranda. 

It was the neighboring Creoles and small 
Acadian planters, 

Who had been summoned all to the house of 
Basil the Herdsman. 

Merry the meeting was of ancient comrades 
and neighbors : 

Friend clasped friend in his arms; and they 
who before were as strangers, 

Meeting in exile, became straightway as friends 
to each other, 

Drawn by the gentle bond of a common coun- 
try together. 

But in the neighboring hall a strain of music, 
proceeding 

From the accordant strings of Michael's melo- 
dious fiddle, 

Broke up all further speech. Away, like chil- 
dren delighted, 

All things forgotten besides, they gave them- 
selves to the maddening 

Whirl of the dizzy dance, as it swept and swayed 
to the music, 

Dreamlike, with beaming eyes and the rush of 
fluttering garments. 

6 Evangeline 



82 EVANGELINE, 

Meanwhile, apart, at the head of the hall, 

the priest and the herdsman 
Sat, conversing together of past and present 

and future; 
While Evangeline stood like one entranced, for 

within her 
Olden memories rose, and loud in the midst 

of the music 
Heard she the sound of the sea, and an irre- 
pressible sadness 
Came o'er her heart, and unseen she stole 

forth into the garden. 
Beautiful was the night. Behind the black 

wall of the forest. 
Tipping its summit with silver, arose the moon. 

On the river 
Fell here and there through the branches a 

tremulous gleam of the moonlight, 
Like the sweet thoughts of love on a darkened 

and devious spirit. 
Nearer and round about her, the manifold 

flowers of the garden 
Poured out their souls in odors, that were their 

prayers and confessions 
Unto the night, as it went its way, like a silent 

Carthusian. 
Fuller of fragrance than they, and as heavy 

with shadows and night-dews, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 83 

Hung the heart of the maiden. The calm and 

the magical moonlight 
Seemed to inundate her soul with indefinable 

longings, 
As, through the garden gate, and beneath the 

shade of the oak-trees, 
Passed she along the path to the edge of the 

measureless prai.ie. 
Silent it lay, with a silvery haze upon it, and 

fire-flies 
Gleaming and floating away in mingled and 

infinite numbers. 
Over her head the stars, the thoughts of God 

in the heavens, 
Shone on the eyes of man, who had ceased to 

marvel and w^orship, 
Save when a blazing comet was seen on the 

walls of that temple, 
As if a hand had appeared and written upon 

them, ' * Upharsin. " 
And the soul of the maiden, between the stars 

and the fire-flies. 
Wandered alone, and she cried, "O Gabriel! 

O my beloved! 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet I cannot 

behold thee? 
Art thou so near unto me, and yet thy voice 

does not reach me? 



84 EVANGELINE, 

Ah! how often thy feet have trod this path to 

the prairie ! 
Ah! how often thine eyes have looked on the 

woodlands around me ! 
Ah! how often beneath this oak, returning 

from labor, 
Thou hast laid down to rest, and to dream of 

me in thy slumbers! 
When shall these eyes behold, these arms be 

folded about thee?" 
Loud and sudden and near the note of a whip- 

poorwill sounded 
Like a flute in the woods; and anon, through 

the neighboring thickets. 
Farther and farther away it floated and dropped 

into silence. 
"Patience!" whispered the oaks from oracular 

caverns of darkness : 
And, from the moonlit meadow, a sigh 

responded, "To-morrow!" 

Bright rose the sun next day ; and all the 

flowers of the garden 
Bathed his shining feet with their tears, and 

anointed his tresses 
With the delicious balm that they bore in their 

vases of crystal. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 85 

"Farewell!" said the priest, as he stood at 

the shadowy threshold; 
"See that you bring us the Prodigal Son from 

his fasting and famine, 
And, too, the Foolish Virgin, who slept when 

the bridegroom was coming. ' ' 
"Farewell!" answered the maiden, and, smil- 
ing, with Basil descended 
Down to the river's brink, where the boatmen 

already were waiting. 
Thus beginning their journey with morning, 

and sunshine, and gladness, 
Swiftly they followed the flight of him who was 

speeding before them. 
Blown by the blast of fate like a dead leaf over 

the desert. 
Not that day, nor the next, nor yet the day 

that succeeded. 
Found the trace of his course, in lake or forest 

or river. 
Nor, after many days, had they found him; 

but vague and uncertain 
Rumors alone were their guides through a wild 

and desolate country; 
Till, at the little inn of the Spanish town of 

Adayes, 
Weary and worn, they alighted, and learned 

from the garrulous landlord. 



86 EVANGELINE, 

That on the day before, with horses and guides 

and companions, 
Gabriel left the village, and took the road of 

the prairies. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 87 



TV. 

Far in the West there lies a desert land, where 

the motintains 
Lift, through perpetual snows, their lofty and 

luminous summits. 
Down from their jagged, deep ravines, where 

the gorge, like a gateway. 
Opens a passing rude to the wheels of the emi- 
grant's wagon, 
Westward the Oregon flows and the Walleway 

and Owyhee. 
Eastward, with devious course, among the 

Wind-river Mountains, 
Through the Sweet-water Valley precipitate 

leaps the Nebraska; 
And to the south, from Fountaine-qui-bout and 

the Spanish sierras. 
Fretted with sands and rocks, and swept by 

the wind of the desert, 
Numberless torrents, with ceaseless sound, 

descend to the ocean, 
Like the great chords of a harp, in loud and 

solemn vibrations. 



88 EVANGELINE,. 

Spreading between these streams are the won- 
drous, beautiful prairies, 
Billowy bays of grass ever rolling in shadow 

and sunshine, 
Bright and luxuriant clusters of roses and 

purple amorphas. 
Over them wandered the buffalo herds, and the 

elk and the roebuck ; 
Over them wandered the wolves, and herds of 

riderless horses; 
Fires that blast and blight, and winds that are 

weary with travel; 
Over them wander the scattered tribes of Ish- 

mael's children. 
Staining the desert with blood ; and above their 

terrible war-trails 
Circles the sails aloft on pinions majestic, the 

vulture, 
Like the implacable soul of a chieftain slaugh- 
tered in battle 
By invisible stairs ascending and scaling the 

heavens. 
Here and there rise smokes from the camps of 

these savage marauders; 
Here and there rise groves from the margins 

of swift- running rivers; 
And the grim, taciturn bear, the anchorite 

monk of the desert, 




"Talk not of wasted affection." — Page 59. 

Evangeline. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 89 

Climbs down their dark ravines to dig for roots 

by the brook-side, 
And over all is the sky, the clear and crystal- 
line heaven. 
Like the projecting hand of God inverted above 

them. 
Into this wonderful land, at the base of the 

Ozark Mountains, 
Gabriel far had entered, with hunters and 

trappers behind him. 
Day after day, with their Indian guides, the 

maiden and Basil 
Followed his flying steps, and thought each 

day to o'ertake him. 
Sometimes they saw, or thought they saw, the 

smoke of his camp-fire 
Rise in the morning air from the distant plain ; 

but at nightfall. 
When they had reached the place, they found 

only embers and ashes. 
And, though their hearts were sad at times 

and their bodies were weary, 
Hope still guided them on, as the magic Fata 

Morgana 
Showed them her lakes of light, that retreated 

and vanished before them. 



90 EVANGELINE, 

Once, as they sat by their evening fire, there 

silently entered 
Into the little camp an Indian woman, whose 

features 
Wore deep traces of sorrow, and patience as 

great as her sorrow. 
She was a Shawnee woman returning home to 

her people. 
From the far-off hunting-grounds of the cruel 

Cammanches, 
Where her Canadian husband, a Coureur-des- 

Bois, had been murdered. 
Touched were their hearts at her story, and 

warmest and friendliest welcome 
Gave tliey, with words of cheer, and she sat 

and feasted among them 
On the buffalo-meat and the venison cooked on 

the embers. 
But when their meal was done, and Basil and 

all his companions. 
Worn with the long day's march and the chase 

of the deer and the bison. 
Stretched themselves on the ground, and slept 

where the quivering fire-light 
Flashed on their swarthy cheeks, and their 

forms wrapped up in their blankets. 
Then at the door of Evangeline's tent she sat 

and repeated 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 91 

Slowly, with soft, low voice, and tlie charm of 
her Indian accent, 

All the tale of her love, with its pleasures, and 
pains, and reverses. 

Much Evangeline wept at the tale, and to 
know that another 

Hapless heart like her own had loved and had 
been disappointed. 

Moved to the depths of her soul by pity and 
woman's compassion, 

Yet in her sorrow pleased that one who had 
suffered was near her. 

She in turn related her love and all its disas- 
ters. 

Mute with wonder the Shawnee sat, and when 
she had ended 

Still was mute; but at length, as if a mysteri- 
ous horror 

Passed through her brain, she spake, and re- 
peated the tale of the Mowis ; 

Mowis, the bridegroom of snow, who won and 
wedded a maiden. 

But, when the morning came, arose and passed 
from, the wigwam, 

Fading and melting away and dissolving into 
the sunshine. 

Till she beheld him no more, though she fol- 
lowed far into the forest. 



92 EVANGELINE, 

Then, in those sweet, low tones, that seemed 
like a weird incantation, 

Told she the tale of the fair Lilinau, who was 
wooed by a phantom. 

That, through the pines, o'er her father's 
lodge, in the hush of the twilight. 

Breathed like the evening wind, and whispered 
love to the maiden, 

Till she followed his green and waving plume 
through the forest, 

And nevermore returned, nor was seen again 
by her people. 

Silent with wonder and strange surprise, Evan- 
geline listened 

To the soft flow of her magical words, till the 
region around her 

Seemed like enchanted ground, and her swar- 
thy guest the enchantress. 

Slowly over the tops of the Ozark Mountains 
the moon rose. 

Lighting the little tent, and with a mysterious 
splendor 

Touching the sombre leaves, and embracing 
and filling the woodland. 

With a delicious sound the brook rushed by, 

and the branches 
Swayed and sighed overheard in scarcely audi- 
ble whispers. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 93 

Filled with the thoughts of love was Evange- 
line's heart, but a secret, 

Subtile sense crept in of pain and indefinite 
terror. 

As the cold, poisonous snake creeps into the 
nest of the swallow. 

It was no earthly fear. A breath from the 
region of spirits 

Seemed to float in the air of night; and she 
felt for a moment 

That, like the Indian maid, she, too, was pur- 
suing a phantom. 

With this thought she slept, and the fear and 
the phantom had vanished. 

Early upon the morrow the march was re- 
sumed ; and the Shawnee 

Said, as they journeyed along, "On the west- 
ern slope of these mountains 

Dwells in his little village the Black Robe 
chief of the Mission. 

Much he teaches the people, and tells them of 
Mary and Jesus; 

Loud laugh their hearts with joy, and weep 
with pain, as they hear him." 

Then, with a sudden and secret emotion, 
Evangeline answered. 



94 EVANGELINE, 

"Let US go to the Mission, for there good tid- 
ings await us!" 

Thither they turned their steeds; and behind 
a spur of the mountains, 

Just as the sun went down, they heard a mur- 
mur of voices. 

And in a meadow green and broad, by the 
bank of a river. 

Saw the tents of the Christians, the tents of 
the Jesuit Mission. 

Under a towering oak, that stood in the midst 
of the village. 

Knelt the Black Robe chief with his children. 
A crucifix fastened 

High on the trunk of the tree, and overshad- 
owed by grapevines. 

Looked with its agonized face on the multitude 
kneeling beneath it. 

This was their rural chapel. Aloft, through 
the intricate arches 

Of its aerial roof, arose the chant of their ves- 
pers, 

Mingling its notes with the soft susurrus and 
sighs of the branches. 

Silent, with heads uncovered, the travelers, 
nearer approaching, 

Knelt on the swarded floor, and joined in the 
evening devotions, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 95 

But when the service was done, and the bene- 
diction had fallen 
Forth from the hands of the priest, like seed 

from the hands of the sower. 
Slowly the reverend man advanced to the 

strangers, and bade them 
Welcome; and when they replied, he smiled 

with benignant expression, 
Hearing the homelike sounds of his mother- 
tongue in the forest, 
And, with words of kindness, conducted them 

into his wigwam. 
There upon mats and skins they reposed, and 

on cakes of the maize-ear 
Feasted, and slaked their thirst from the 

water-gourd of the teacher. 
Soon was their story told ; and the priest with 

solemnity answered: — 
**Not six suns have risen and set since Gabriel, 

seated 
On this mat by my side, where now the maiden 

reposes. 
Told me this same sad tale; then arose and 

continued his journey ! ' ' 
Soft was the voice of the priest, and he spake 

with an accent of kindness; 
But on Evangeline's heart fell his words, as in 

winter the snow-flakes 



96 EVANGELINE, 

Fall into some lone nest from which the birds 

have departed. 
"Far to the north he has gone," continued the 

priest; "but in autumn, 
When the chase is done, will return again to 

the Mission." 
Then Evangeline said, and her voice was meek 

and submissive, 
"Let me remain with thee, for my soul is sad 

and afflicted." 
So seemed it wise and well unto all ; and be- 
times on the morrow. 
Mounting his Mexican steed, with his Indian 

guides and companions. 
Homeward Basil returned, and Evangeline 

stayed at the Mission. 

Slowly, slowly, slowly the days succeeded 
each other, — 

Days and weeks and months ; and the fields of 
maize that were springing 

Green from the ground when a stranger she 
came, now waving above her. 

Lifted their slender shafts, with leaves inter- 
lacing, and forming 

Cloisters for mendicant crows and granaries 
pillaged by squirrels. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. . 97 

Then in the golden weather the maize was 

husked, and the maidens 
Blushed at each blood-red ear, for that betok- 
ened a lover, 
But at the crooked laughed, and called it a 

thief in the corn-field. 
Even the blood-red ear to Evangeline brought 

not her lover. 
"Patience!" the priest would say; "have faith, 

and thy prayer will be answered ! 
Look at this vigorous plant that lifts its head 

from the meadow, 
See how its leaves are turned to the north, as 

true as the magnet ; 
This is the compass-flower, that the finger of 

God has planted 
Here in the houseless wild, to direct the trav- 
eler's journey 
Over the sea-like, pathless, limitless waste of 

the desert. 
Such in the soul of man is faith. The blossoms 

of passion, 
Gay and luxuriant flowers, are brighter and 

fuller of fragrance, 
But they beguile us, and lead us astray, and 

their odor is deadly. 
Only this humble plant can guide us here, and 

hereafter 

7 Eraageline 



98 EVANGELINE, 

Crown us with asphodel flowers, that are wxt 
with the dews of nepenthe." 

So came the autumn, and passed, and the 
winter, — yet Gabriel came not; 

Blossomed the opening spring, and the notes 
of the robin and bluebird 

Sounded sweet upon wold and in wood, yet 
Gabriel came not. 

But on the breath of the summer winds a 
rumor was wafted 

Sweeter than song of bird, or hue or odor of 
blossom. 

Far to the north and east, it said, in the Michi- 
gan forests, 

Gabriel had his lodge by the banks of the 
Saginaw River. 

And, with returning guides, that sought the 
lakes of St. Lawrence, 

Saying a sad farewell, Evangeline went from 
the Mission. 

When over weary ways, by long and perilous 
marches. 

She had attained at length the depths of the 
Michigan forests, 

Found she the hunter's lodge deserted and fal- 
len to ruin ! ^ 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 99 

Thus did the long sad years glide on, and 
in seasons and places 

Divers and distant far was seen the wandering 
maiden ; — 

Now in the Tents of Grace of the meek Mo- 
ravian Missions, 

Now in the noisy camps and the battle-fields 
of the army, 

Now in secluded hamlets, in towns and popu- 
lous cities. 

Like a phantom she came, and passed away 
unremembered. 

Fair was she and young, when in hope began 
the long journey ; 

Faded was she and old, when in disappoint- 
ment it ended. 

Each succeeding year stole something away 
from her beauty. 

Leaving behind it, broader and deeper, the 
gloom and the shadow. 

Then there appeared and spread faint streaks 
of gray o'er her forehead. 

Dawn of another life, that broke o'er her 
earthly horizon. 

As in the Eastern sky the first faint streaks of 
the morning. 



•■c. 



100 EVANGELINE, 



V. 

In that delightful land which is washed by the 

Delaware's waters, 
Guarding in sylvan shades the name of Penn 

the apostle, 
Stands on the banks of its beautiful stream the 

city he founded. 
There all the air is balm, and the peach is the 

emblem of beauty, 
And the streets still re-echo the names of the 

trees of the forest, 
As if they fain would appease the Dryads 

whose haunts they molested. 
There from the troubled sea had Evangeline 

landed, an exile. 
Finding among the children of Penn a home 

and a country. 
There old Rene Leblanc had died ; and when 

he departed, 
Saw at his side only one of all his hundred de- 
scendants. 
Something at least there was in the friendly 

streets of the city, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 101 

Something that spake to her heart, and made 

her no longer a stranger; 
And her ear was pleased with the Thee and 

Thou of the Quakers, 
For it recalled the past, the old Acadian 

country. 
Where all men were equal, and all were 

brothers and sisters. 
So, when the fruitless search, the disappointed 

endeavor. 
Ended, to recommence no more upon earth, 

uncomplaining, 
Thither, as leaves to the light, were turned 

her thoughts and her footsteps. 
As from a mountain's top the rainy mists of 

the morning 
Roll away, and afar we behold the landscape 

below us, 
Sun-illumined, with shining rivers and cities 

and hamlets, 
So fell the mists from her mind, and she saw 

the world far below her, 
Dark no longer, but all illumined with love ; 

and the pathway 
Which she had climbed so far, lying smooth 

and fair in the distance. 
Gabriel was not forgotten. Within her heart 

was his image. 



102 EVANGELINE, 

Clothed in the beauty of lovd and youth, as last 

she beheld him, 
Only more beautiful made by his deathlike 

silence and absence. 
Into her thoughts of him time entered not, for 

it was not. 
Over him years had no power; he was not 

changed, but transfigured; 
He had become to her heart as one who is 

dead, and not absent ; 
Patience and abnegation of self, and devotion 

to others. 
This was a lesson a life of trial and sorrow had 

taught her. 
So was her love diffused, but, like to some 

odorous spices, 
Suffered no waste nor loss, though filling the 

air with aroma. 
Other hope had she none, nor wish in life, but 

to follow 
Meekly, with reverent steps, the sacred feet of 

her Savior. 
Thus many years she lived as a Sister of 

Mercy; frequenting 
Lonely and wretched roofs in the crowded 

lanes of the city. 
Where distress and want concealed themselves 

from the sunlight, 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 103 

Where disease and sorrow in garrets languished 

neglected. 
Night after night, when the world was asleep, 

as the watchman repeated 
Loud, through the gusty streets, that all was 

well in the city, 
High at some lonely window he saw the light 

of her taper. 
Day after day, in the gray of the dawn, as slow 

through the suburbs 
Plodded the German farmer, with flowers and 

fruits for the market, 
Met he that meek, pale face, returning home 

from its watchings. 

Then it came to pass that a pestilence fell 
on the city. 

Presaged by wondrous signs, and mostly by 
flocks of wild pigeons, 

Darkening the sun in their flight, with naught 
in their claws but an acorn. 

And, as the tides of the sea arise in the month 
of September, 

Flooding some silver stream, till it spreads to 
a lake in the meadow. 

So death flooded life, and o'erflowing its natu- 
ral margin, 



104 EVANGELINE, 

Spread to a brackish lake, the silver stream of 

existence. 
Wealth had no power to bribe, nor beauty to 

charm, the oppressor; 
But all perished alike beneath the scourge of 

his anger ; — 
Only, alas ! the poor, who had neither friends 

nor attendants, 
Crept away to die in the almshouse, home of 

the homeless. 
Then in the suburbs it stood, in the midst of 

meadows and woodlands; — 
Now the city surrounds it; but still, with its 

gateway and wicket 
Meek, in the midst of splendor, its humble 

walls seem to echo 
Softly the words of the Lord: — "The poor ye 

always have with you. ' * 
Thither, by night and by day, came the Sister 

of Mercy. The dying 
Looked up into her face, and thought, indeed, 

to behold there 
Gleams of celestial light encircle her forehead 

with splendor. 
Such as the artist paints o'er the brows of 

saints and apostles. 
Or such as hangs by night o'er a city seen at 

a distance. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 105 

Unto their eyes it seemed the lamps of the 

city celestial, 
Into whose shining gates ere long their spirits 

would enter. 

Thus, on a Sabbath morn, through the 
streets deserted and silent, 

Wending her quiet way, she entered the door 
of the almshouse. 

Sweet on the summer air was the odor of flow- 
ers in the garden ; 

And she paused on her way to gather the fair- 
est among them. 

That the dying once more might rejoice in 
their fragrance and beauty. 

Then, as she mounted the stairs to the corri- 
dors, cooled by the east wind. 

Distant and soft on her ear fell the chimes 
from the belfry of Christ Church, 

While, intermingled with these, across the 
meadows were wafted 

Sounds of psalms, that were sung by the 
Swedes in their church at Wicace. 

Soft as descending wings fell the calm of the 
hour on her spirit ; 

Something within her said, **At length thy 
trials are ended;" 



106 EVANGELINE, 

And, with light in her looks, she entered the 

chambers of sickness. 
Noiselessly moved about the assiduous, careful 

attendants, 
Moistening the feverish lip, and the aching 

brow, and in silence 
Closing the sightless eyes of the dead, and con- 
cealing their faces, 
Where on their pallets they lay, like drifts of 

snow by the roadside. 
Many a languid head, upraised as Evangeline 

entered, 
Turned on its pillow of pain to gaze while she 

passed, for her presence 
Fell on their hearts like a ray of the sun on 

the walls of a prison. 
And, as she looked around, she saw how 

Death, the consoler, 
Laying his hand upon many a heart, had 

healed it forever. 
Many familiar forms had disappeared in the 

night-time ; 
Vacant their places were, or filled already by 

strangers. 

Suddenly, as if arrested by fear or a feeling 
of wonder. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 107 

Still she stood, with her colorless lips apart, 

while a shudder 
Ran through her frame, and, forgotten, the 

flowerets dropped from her fingers, 
And from her eyes and cheeks the light and 

bloom of the morning. 
Then there escaped from her lips a cry of such 

terrible anguish. 
That the dying heard of it, and started up from 

their pillows. 
On the pallet before her was stretched the 

form of an old man. 
Long, and thin, and gray were the locks that 

shaded his temples ; 
But, as he lay in the morning light, his face 

for a moment 
Seemed to assume once more the forms of its 

earlier manhood ; 
So are wont to be changed the faces of those 

who are dying. 
Hot and red on his lips still burned the flush 

of the fever, 
As if life, like the Hebrew, with blood had 

besprinkled its portals, 
That the Angel of Death might see the sign, 

and pass over. 
Motionless, senseless, dying, he lay, and his 

spirit exhausted 



108 EVANGELINE, 

Seemed to be sinking down through infinite 

depths in the darkness, 
Darkness of slumber and death, forever sink- 
ing and sinking. 
Then through those realms of shade, in multi- 
plied reverberations, 
Heard he that cry of pain, and through the 

hush that succeeded 
Whispered a gentle voice, in accents tender 

and saint-like, 
*' Gabriel! O my beloved!" and died away into 

silence. 
Then he beheld, in a dream, once more the 

home of his childhood ; 
Green Acadian meadows, with sylvan rivers 

among them, 
Village, and mountain, and woodlands; and, 

walking under their shadow, 
As in the days of her youth, Evangeline rose 

in his vision. 
Tears came to his eyes ; and as slowly he lifted 

his eyelids. 
Vanished the vision away, but Evangeline 

knelt by his bedside. 
Vainly he strove to whisper her name, for the 

accents unuttered 
Died on his lips, and their motion revealed 

what his tongue would have spoken. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. 109 

Vainly he strove to rise; and Evangeline, 

kneeling beside him. 
Kissed his dying lips, and laid his head on her 

bosom. 
Sweet was the light of his eyes ; but it suddenly 

sank into darkness, 
As when a lamp is blown out by a gust of wind 

at a casement. 

All was ended now, the hope, and the fear, 
and the sorrow, 

All the aching of heart, the restless, unsatis- 
fied longing, 

All the dull, deep pain, and constant anguish 
of patience! 

And, as she pressed once more the lifeless 
head to her bosom. 

Meekly she bowed her own, and murmured, 
'* Father, I thank thee!" 



Still stands the forest primeval ; but far away 

from its shadow, 
Side by side, in their nameless graves, the 

lovers are sleeping. 
Under the humble walls of the little Catholic 

churchyard, 



110 EVANGELINE, 

In the heart of the city, they lie, unknown and 

unnoticed. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing 

beside them. 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, where theirs 

are at rest and forever, 
Thousands of aching brains, where theirs no 

longer are busy. 
Thousands of toiling hands, where theirs have 

ceased from their labors, 
Thousands of weary feet, where theirs have 

completed their journey ! 

Still stands the forest primeval ; but under 

the shade of its branches 
Dwells another race, with other customs and 

language. 
Only along the shore of the mournful and misty 

Atlantic 
Linger a few Acadian peasants, whose fathers 

from exile 
Wandered back to their native land to die in 

its bosom. 
In the fisherman's cot the wheel and the loom 

are still busy ; 
Maidens still wear their Norman caps and their 

Itirtles of homespun. 



A TALE OF ACADIA. Ill 

And by the evening fire repeat Evangeline's 

story, 
While from its rocky caverns the deep-voiced, 

neighboring ocean 
Speaks, and in accents disconsolate answers 

the wail of the forest. 



112 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 



SONG OF THE BELL. 

FROM THE GERMAN. 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily, 
When the bridal party 

To the church doth hie ! 
Bell ! thou soundest solemnly, 
When, on Sabbath morning. 

Fields deserted lie ! 

Bell ! thou soundest merrily ; 
Tellest thou at evening 

Bed-time draweth nigh ! 
Bell ! thou soundest mournfully ; 
Tellest thou the bitter 

Parting hath gone by ! 

Say! how canst thou mourn? 
How canst thou rejoice? 

Thou art but metal dull ! 
And yet all our sorrowings. 
And all our rejoicings, 

Thou dost feel them all ! 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 113 

God hath wonders many, 
Which we cannot fathom ! 

Placed within thy form ! 
When the heart is sinking, 
Thou alone canst raise it. 

Trembling in the storm ! 



8 Evangeline 



114 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 



THE CASTLE BY THE SEA. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

**Hast thou seen that lordly castle, 

That Castle by the Sea? 
Golden and red above it 

The clouds float gorgeously. ' ' 

"And fain it would stoop downward, 

To the mirrored wave below ; 
And fain it would soar upward 

In the evening's crimson glow." 

*'Well have I seen that castle, 

That Castle by the Sea, 
And the moon above it standing, 

And the mist rise solemnly. " 

*'The winds and the waves of ocean, 

Had they a merry chime? 
Didst thou hear, from those lofty chambers 

The harp and the minstrel's rhyme?" 

*'The winds and the waves of ocean. 
They rested quietly, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 115 

But I heard on the gale a sound of wail, 
And tears came to mine eye." 

"And sawest thou on the turrets 

The King and his royal bride? 
And the wave of their crimson mantles? 

And the golden crown of pride?" 

"Led they not forth, in rapture, 

A beauteous maiden there? 
Resplendent as the morning sun, 

Beaming with golden hair?" 

"Well saw I the ancient parents, 

Without the crown of pride ; 
They were moving slow, in weeds of woe, 

No maiden was by their side!" 



116 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 



THE BLACK KNIGHT. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

*Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gladness, 
When woods and fields put off all sadness, 

Thus began the King and spake: 
**So from the halls 
Of ancient Hofburg's walls, 

A luxuriant Spring shall break. 

Drums and trumpets echo loudly, 
Wave the crimson banners proudly. 

From balcony the King looked on ; 
In the play of spears. 
Fell all the cavaliers. 

Before the monarch's stalwart son. 

To the barrier of the fight 
Rode at last a sable Knight, 

' ' Sir Knight ! your name and scutcheon, say !" 
"Should I speak it here. 
Ye would stand aghast with fear; 

I'm a Prince of mighty sway!" 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 117 

When he rode into the lists, 

The arch of Heaven grew black with mists 

And the castle 'gan to rock. 
At the first blow, 
Fell the youth from saddle-bow, 

Hardly rises from the shock. 

Pipe and viol call the dances, 

Torch-light through the high halls glances ; 

Waves a mighty shadow in; 
With manner bland 
Doth ask the maiden's hand, 

Doth with her the dance begin 

Danced in sable iron sark. 
Danced a measure weird and dark, 

Coldly clasped her limbs around. 
From breast and hair 
Down fall from her the fair 

Flowerets, faded, to the ground. 

To the sumptuous banquet came 
Every Knight and every Dame. 

'Twixt son and daughter all distraught. 
With mournful mind 
The ancient King reclined. 

Gazed at them in silent thought. 



118 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Pale the children both did look, 
But the guest a breaker took ; 

"Golden wine will make you whole!" 
The children drank, 
Gave many a courteous thank ; 

"O that draught was very cool!" 

Each the father's breast embraces, 
Son and daughter; and their faces 

Colorless grow utterly. 
Whichever way 
Looks the fear-struck father gray, 

He beholds his children die. 

"Woe! the blessed children both 
Takest thou in the joy of youth ; 

Take me, too, the joyless father!" 
Spake the grim Guest, 
From his hollow, cavernous breast ; 

** Roses in the spring I gather!" 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 119 



SONG OF THE SILENT LAND. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF SALIS. 

Into the Silent Land ! 

Ah! who shall lead us thither? 

Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, 

And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. 

Who leads us with a gentle hand 

Thither, O thither. 

Into the Silent Land? 

Into the Silent Land ! 

To you, ye boundless regions 

Of all perfection! Tender morning- visions 

Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and 

band! 
Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, 
Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms 
Into the Silent Land I 

O Land! O Land! 

For all the broken-hearted 

The mildest herald by our fate allotted, 



120 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand 
To lead us with a gentle hand 
Into the land of the great Departed, 
Into the Silent Land ! 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 12i 



L'ENVOI. 

Ye voices, that arose 

After the Evening's close, 

And whispered to my restless heart repose 

Go, breathe it in the ear 

Of all who doubt and fear, 

And say to them, "Be of good cheer!" 



Ye sounds, so low and calm, 

That in the groves of balm 

Seemed to me like an angel's psalm! 

Go, mingle yet once more 

With the perpetual roar 

Of the pine forest, dark and hoar! 



Tongues of the dead, not lost. 
But speaking from death's frost. 
Like fiery tongues at Pentecost ! 

Glimmer, as funeral lamps, 
Amid the chills and damps 
Of the vast plain where Death encamps! 



BALLADS 
AND OTHER POEMS. 



123 



PREFACE. 

There is one poem in this volume, in refer- 
ence to which a few introductory remarks may 
be useful. It is The Children of the Lord's 
Supper, from the Swedish of Bishop Tegner ; a 
poem which enjoys no inconsiderable reputa- 
tion in the North of Europe, and for its beauty 
and simplicity merits the attention of English 
readers. It is an Idyl, descriptive of scenes in 
a Swedish village; and belongs to the same 
class of poems as the Luise of Voss and the 
Hermann und Dorothea of Goethe. But the 
Swedish Poet has been guided by a surer taste 
than his German predecessors. His tone is 
pure and elevated ; and he rarely, if ever, mis- 
takes what is trivial for what is simple. 

There is something patriarchal still lingering 
about rural life in Sweden, which renders it a 
fit theme for song. Almost primeval simplicity 
reigns over that Northern land, — almost pri- 
meval solitude and stillness. You pass out from 
the gate of the city, and, as if by magic, the 
scene changes to a wild, woodland landscape. 
Around you are forests of fir. Overhead hang 
125 



126 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

the long, fan-like branches, trailing- with moss, 
and heavy with red and blue cones. Under 
foot is a carpet of yellow leaves ; and the air is 
warm and balmy. On a wooden bridge you 
cross a little silver stream; and anon come 
forth into a pleasant and sunny land of farms. 
Wooden fences divide the adjoining fields. 
Across the road are gates, which are opened 
by troops of children. The peasants take off 
their hats as you pass; you sneeze, and they 
cry, "God bless you." The houses in the vil- 
lages and smaller towns are all built of hewn 
timber, and for the most part painted red. 
The floors of the taverns are strewn with the 
fragrant tips of fir boughs. In many villages 
there are no taverns, and the peasants take 
turns in receiving travelers. The thrifty house- 
wife shows you into the best chamber, the 
walls of which are hung round with rude pic- 
tures from the Bible ; and brings you her heavy 
silver spoons, — an heirloom, — to dip the curdled 
milk from the pan. You have oaten cakes 
baked some months before ; or bread with anise- 
seed and coriander in it, or perhaps a little 
pine bark. 

Meanwhile the sturdy husbandman brought 
his horses from the plough, and harnessed 
them to your carriage. Solitary travelers come 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 127 

and go in uncouth one-horse chaises. Most of 
them have pipes in their mouths, and hanging 
around their necks in front, a leather wallet, 
in which they carry tobacco, and the great 
bank-notes of the country, as large as your two 
hands. You meet, also, groups of Dalekarlian 
peasant women, traveling homeward or town- 
ward in pursuit of work. They walk barefoot, 
carrying in their hands their shoes, which have 
high heels under the hollow of the foot, and 
soles of birch bark. 

Frequent, too, are the village churches, 
standing by the road-side, each in its own lit- 
tle garden of Gethsemane. In the parish reg- 
ister great events are doubtless recorded. 
Some old king was christened or buried in 
that church ; and a little sexton, with a rusty 
key, shows you the baptismal font, or the cof- 
fin. In the churchyard are a few flowers, and 
much green grass; and daily the shadow of 
the church spire, with its long tapering finger 
counts the tombs, representing a dial-plate of 
human life, on which the hours and minutes 
are the graves of men. The stones are flat, 
and large, and low, and perhaps sunken, like 
the roofs of old houses. On some are armorial 
bearings; on others only the initials of the 
poor tenants, with a date, as on the roofs of 



128 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Dutch cottages. They all sleep with their 
heads to the westward. Each held a lighted 
taper in his hand when he died; and in his 
coffin were placed his little heart-treasures, 
and a piece of money for his last journey. 
Babes that came lifeless into the world were 
carried in the arms of gray-haired old men to 
the only cradle they ever slept in ; and in the 
shroud of the dead mother were laid the little 
garments of the child that lived and died in 
her bosom. And over this scene the village 
pastor looks from his window in the stillness of 
midnight, and says in his heart, ''How quietly 
they rest, all the departed ! ' ' 

Near the churchyard gates stands a poor-box, 
fastened to a post by iron bands, and secured 
by a padlock, with a sloping wooden roof to 
keep off the rain. If it be Sunday, the peas- 
ants sit on the church steps and con their 
psalm-books. Others are coming down the 
road with their beloved pastor, who talks to 
them of holy things from beneath his broad- 
brimmed hat. He speaks of fields and har- 
vests, and of the parable of the sower, that 
went forth to sow. He leads them to the Good 
Shepherd, and to the pleasant pastures of the 
spirit-land. He is their patriarch, and, like 
Melchizedek, both priest and king, though he 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 129 

has no other throne than the church pulpit. 
The women carry psalm-books in their hands, 
wrapped in silk handkerchiefs, and listen de- 
voutly to the good man's words. But the 
young men, like Gallio, care for none of these 
things. They are busy counting the plaits in 
the kirtles of the peasant girls, their number 
being an indication of the wearer's wealth. It 
may end in a wedding. 

I w411 endeavor to describe a village wedding 
in Sweden. It shall be in summer time, that 
there may be flowers, and in a southern prov- 
ince, that the bridQ may be fair. The early 
song of the lark and of chanticleer are mingling 
in the clear morning air, and the sun, the heav- 
enly bridegroom with golden locks, arises in 
the east, just as our earthly bridegroom with 
yellow hair arises in the south. In the yard, 
there is a sound of voices and trampling of 
hoofs, and the horses are led forth and saddled. 
The steed that is to bear the bridegroom has 
a bunch of flowers upon his forehead, and a 
garland of corn-flowers around his neck. 
Friends from the neighboring farms come rid- 
ing in, their blue cloaks streaming to the 
wind; and finally the happy bridegroom, with 
a whip in his hand, and monstrous nosegay in 
the breast of his black jacket, comes forth 

9 Evangeline 



130 LONGFELLOW'S P0EM3. 

from his -chamber; and then to horse and 
away, toward the village where the bride 
already sits and waits. 

Foremost rides the Spokesman, followed by 
some half-dozen village musicians. Next comes 
the bridegroom between his two groomsmen, 
and then forty or fifty friends and wedding- 
guests, half of them perhaps with pistols and 
guns in their hands. A kind of baggage- 
wagon brings up the rear, laden with food and 
drink for these merry pilgrims. At the en- 
trance of every village stands a triumphal arch, 
adorned with flowers and ribbons and ever- 
greens; and as they pass beneath it the wed- 
ding guests fire a salute, and the whole proces- 
sion stops. And straight from every pocket 
flies a black-jack, filled with punch or brandy. 
It is passed from hand to hand among the 
crowd ; provisions are brought from the wagon, 
and after eating and drinking and hurrahing, 
the procession moves forward again, and at 
length draws near the house of the bride. 
Four heralds ride forward to announce that a 
knight and his attendants are in the neighbor- 
ing forest, and pray for hospitality. "How 
many are you?" asks the bride's father. "At 
least three hundred," is the answer; and to 
this the host replies, "Yes; were you seven 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 131 

times as many, you should all be welcome ; and 
in token thereof receive this cup. ' ' Where- 
upon each herald receives a can of ale ; and 
soon after the whole jovial company comes 
storming into the farmer's yard, and riding" 
round the May-pole, which stands in the cen- 
ter, alights amid a grand salute and flourish of 
music. 

In the hall sits the bride, with a crown upon 
her head and a tear in her eye, like the Virgin 
Mary in old church paintings. She is dressed 
in red bodice and kirtle, with loose linen sleeves. 
There is a gilded belt around her waist ; and 
around her neck strings of golden beads, and 
a golden chain. On the crown rests a wreath 
of wild roses, and below it another of cypress. 
Loose over her shoulders falls her flaxen hair; 
and her blue innocent eyes are fixed upon the 
ground. O thou good soul! thou hast hard 
hands, but a soft heart! Thou art poor. The 
very ornaments thou wearest are not thine. 
They have been hired for this great day. Yet 
art thou rich; rich in health, rich in hope, rich 
in thy first, young, fervent love. The blessing 
of heaven be upon thee! So thinks the parish 
priest, as he joins together the hands of bride 
and bridegroom, saying in deep, solemn tones, 
— "I give thee in marriage this damsel, to be 



132 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

thy wedded wife in all honor, and to share the 
half of thy bed, and thy lock and key, and every 
penny which you two may possess, or may 
inherit, and all the rights which Upland's laws 
provide, and the holy king Erik gave. ' ' 

The dinner is now served, and the bride sits 
between the bridegroom and the priest. The 
Spokesman delivers an oration after the 
ancient custom of his fathers. He interlards 
it well with quotations from the Bible ; and 
invites the Savior to be present at this marriage 
feast, as he was at the marriage feast in Cana 
of Galilee. The table is not sparingly set 
forth. Each makes a long arm, and the feast 
goes cheerily on. Punch and brandy pass 
round between the courses, and here and there 
a pipe is smoked, while waiting for the next 
dish. They sit long at table ; but, as all things 
must have an end, so must a Swedish dinner. 
Then the dance begins. It is led off by the 
bride and the priest, who perform a solemn 
minuet together. Not till after midnight 
comes the Last Dance. The girls form a ring 
around the bride, to keep her from the hands 
of the married women, who endeavor to break 
through the magic circle, and seize their new 
sister. After long struggling they succeed; 
and the crown is taken from her head and the 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 133 

jewels from her neck, and her bodice is un- 
laced and her kirtle taken off ; and like a ves- 
tal virgin clad all in white she goes, but it is 
to her marriage chamber, not to her grave ; and 
the wedding guests follow her with lighted can- 
dles in their hands. And this is a village bridal. 

Nor must I forget the suddenly changing 
seasons of the Northern clime. There is no 
long and lingering spring, unfolding leaf and 
blossom one by one ; — no long and lingering 
autumn, pompous with many-colored leaves 
and the glow of Indian summers. But winter 
and summer are wonderful, and pass into each 
other. The quail has hardly ceased piping in 
the corn, when winter from the folds of trail- 
ing clouds sows broadcast over the land snow, 
icicles, and rattling hail. The days wane 
apace. Ere long the sun hardly rises above 
the horizon or does not rise at all. The moon 
and the stars shine through the day ; only, at 
noon, they are pale and wan, and in the south- 
ern sky a red, fiery glow, as of sunset, burns 
along the horizon, and then goes out. And 
pleasantly under the silver moon, and under the 
silent, solemn stars, ring the steel-shoes of the 
skaters on the frozen sea, and voices, and the 
sound of bells. 

And now the Northern Lights begin to 



134 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

burn, faintly at first, like sunbeams playing in 
the waters of the blue sea. Then a soft crimson 
glow tinges the heavens. There is a blush on 
the cheek of night. The colors come and go; 
and change from crimson to gold, from gold to 
crimson. The snow is stained with rosy light. 
Twofold from the zenith, east and west, flames 
a fiery sword ; and a broad band passes athwart 
the heavens, like a summer sunset. Soft 
purple clouds come sailing over the sky, and 
through their vapory folds the winking stars 
shine white as silver. With such pomp as this 
is Merry Christmas ushered in, though only a 
single star heralded the first Christmas. And 
in memory of that day the Swedish peasants 
dance on straw ; and the peasant girls throw 
straws at the timbered roof of the hall, and for 
every one that sticks in a crack shall a grooms- 
man come to their wedding. Merry Christmas, 
indeed! For pious souls there shall be church 
songs and sermons, but for Swedish peasants, 
brandy and nut brown ale in wooden bowls; 
and the great Yule-cake crowned with a 
cheese, and garlanded with apples, and uphold- 
ing a three- armed candlestick over the Christ- 
mas feast. They may tell tales, too, of Jons 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 135 

Lundsbracka, and Lunkenfus, and the great 
Riddar Finke of Pingsdaga.* 

And now the glad, leafy midsummer, full of 
blossoms and the song of of nightingales, is 
come ! Saint John has taken the flowers and 
festival of heathen Balder; and in every village 
there is a May-pole fifty feet high, with wreaths 
and roses and ribbons streaming in the wind, 
and a noisy weathercock on top to tell the vil- 
lage whence the wind cometh and whither it 
goeth. The sun does not set till ten o'clock at 
night; and the children are at play in the 
streets an hour later. The windows and doors 
are all open, and you may sit and read till 
midnight without a candle. O how beautiful 
is the summer night, which is not night, but a 
sunless yet unclouded day, descending upon 
earth with dews, and shadows, and refreshing 
coolness ! How beautiful the long, mild twi- 
light, which like a silver clasp unites to-day 
with yesterday! How beautiful the silent hour, 
when Morning and Evening thus sit together, 
hand in hand, beneath the starless sky of mid- 
night! From the church- tower in the public 
square the bell tolls the hour, with a soft, 
musical chime; and the watchman, whos 
watch-tower is the belfry, blows a blast in his 

* Titles of Swedish popular tales. 



136 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

horn, for each stroke of the hammer, and four 
times, to the four corners of the heavens, in a 
sonorous voice he chaunts, — 

"Ho! watchman, ho! 
Twelve is the clock ! 
God keep our town 
From fire and brand 
And hostile band ! 
Twelve is the clock!" 

From his swallow's nest in the belfry he can 
see the sun all night long ; and farther north 
the priest stands at his door in the warm mid- 
night, and lights his pipe with a common burn- 
ing glass. 

I trust that these remarks will not be deemed 
irrelevant to the poem, but will lead to a clearer 
understanding of it. The translation is literal, 
perhaps to a fault. In no instance have I done 
the author a wrong, by introducing into his 
work any supposed improvements or embellish- 
ments of my own. I have preserved even the 
measure ; that inexorable hexameter, in which, 
it must be confessed, the motions of the Eng- 
lish Muse are not unlike those of a prisoner 
dancing to the music of his chains ; and per- 
haps, as Dr. Jonson said of the dancing dog, 
*'the wonder is not that she should do it so 
well, but that she should do it at all. ' ' 




At the door of Evangeline's tent she sat." — Page 90. 

Evangeline. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 137 

Esaias Tegner, the author of this poem, was 
born in the parish of By in Warmland, in the 
year 1782. In 1799 he entered the University 
of Lund, as a student; and in 181 2 was ap- 
pointed Professor of Greek in that institution. 
In 1824 he became Bishop of Wexio, which office 
he still holds. He stands first among all the 
poets of Sweden, living or dead. His principal 
work is Frithiof s Saga ; one of the most remark- 
able poems of the age. This modern Scald 
has written his name in immortal runes. He 
is the glory and boast of Sweden ; a prophet, 
honored in his own country, and adding one 
more to the list of great names that adorn her 
history. 



138 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 



THE SKELETON IN ARMOR. 

[The following Ballad was suggested to me while 
riding on the seashore at Newport. A year or two 
previous a skeleton had been dug up at Fall River, clad 
in broken and corroded armor ; and the idea occurred 
to me of connecting it with the Round Tower at New- 
port, generally known hitherto as the Old Wind-Mill, 
though now claimed by the Danes as a work of their 
early ancestors. Professor Rafn, in the "Memoires de 
la Societe Royale des Antiquaires du Nord," for 1838- 
1839, says: 

"There is no mistaking in this instance the style in 
which the more ancient stone edifices of the North 
were constructed, the style which belongs to the Ro- 
man, or Ante-Gothic architecture, and which, espe- 
cially, after the time of Charlemagne, diffused itself 
from Italy over the whole of the West and the North of 
Europe, where it continued to predominate until the 
close of the twelfth century; that style, which some 
authors, have from one of its most striking characteris- 
tics, called the round arch style, the same which in Eng- 
land is denominated Saxon and sometimes Norman 
architecture. 

"On the ancient structure in Newport there are no 
ornaments remaining, which might possibly have served 
to guide us in assigning the probable date of its erection. 
That no vestige whatever is found of the pointed arch 
nor any approximation to it, is indicative of an earlier 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 139 

rather than of a later period. From such characteristics 
as remain, however, we can scarcely form any other in- 
ference than one, in which I am persuaded that all, who 
are familiar with Old-Northern architecture, will con- 
cur, that this building was erected at a period decidedly 
not later than the twelfth century. This remark ap- 
plies, of course, to the original building only, and not to 
the alterations that it subsequently received ; for there 
are several such alterations in the upper part of the 
building which cannot be mistaken, and which were 
most likely occasioned by its being adapted in modern 
times to various uses, for example, as the substructure 
of a wind-mill, and latterly as a hay magazine. To the 
same times may be referred the windows, the fireplace, 
and the apertures made above the columns. That this 
building could not have been erected for a wind-mill, is 
what an architect will easily discern." 

I will not enter into a discussion of the point. It is 
sufficiently well established for the purpose of a ballad; 
though doubtless many an honest citizen of Newport, 
who has passed his days within sight of the Round 
Tower, will be ready to exclaim with Sancho, "God bless 
me ! did I not warn you to have a care of what you 
were doing, for that it was nothing but a wind-mill ; and 
nobody could mistake it, but one who had the like in 
his head."] 

" Speak! speak! thou fearful guest! 
Who, with thy hollow breast 
Still in rude armor drest, 
Comest to daunt me ! 
Wrapt not in Eastern balms, 
But with thy fleshless palms 



140 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Stretched, as if asking alms, 
Why dost thou haunt me?" 

Then, from those cavernous eyes 
Pale flashes seemed to rise, 
As when the Northern skies 

Gleam in December; 
And, like the water's flow 
Under December's snow, 
Came a dull voice of woe 

From the heart's chamber. 

" I was a Viking old! 

My deeds, though manifold, 
No Skald in song has told. 
No Saga taught thee! 
Take heed, that in thy verse 
Thou dost the tale rehearse, 
Else dread a dead man's curse! 
For this I sought thee. 



(( 



Far in the Northern Land, 
By the wild Baltic's strand, 
I, with my childish hand. 

Tamed the ger- falcon; 
And, with my skates fast-bound, 
Skimmed the half-frozen Sound, 
That the poor whimpering hound 

Trembled to walk on. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 141 

Oft to his frozen lair 
Tracked I the grisly bear, 
While from my path the hare 

Fled like a shadow ; 
Oft through the forest dark 
Followed the were- wolf's bark, 
Until the soaring lark 

Sang from the meadow. 

But when I older grew. 
Joining a corsair's crew, 
O'er the dark sea I flew 

With the marauders. 
Wild was the life we led ; 
Many the souls that sped, 
Many the hearts that bled. 

By our stern orders. 

Many a wassail-bout 
Wore the long Winter out ; 
Often our midnight shout 

Set the cocks crowing. 
As we the Berserk's tale 
Measured in cups of ale. 
Draining the oaken pail. 

Filled to o'erflowing. 



142 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

*' Once as I told in glee 
Tales of the stormy sea, 
Soft eyes did gaze on me, 

Burning yet tender; 
And as the white stars shine 
On the dark Norway pine. 
On that dark heart of mine 

Fell their soft splendor. 

** I wooed the blue-eyed maid, 
Yielding, yet half afraid. 
And in the forest's shade 

Our vows were plighted. 
Under its loosened vest 
Fluttered her little breast, 
Like birds within their nest 

By the hawk frighted. 

** Bright in her father's hall 
Shields gleamed upon the wall, 
Loud sang the minstrels all, 

Chaunting his glory ; 
When of old Hildebrand 
I asked his daughter's hand, 
Mute did the minstrels stand 

To hear my story. 

** While the brown ale he quaffed, 
Loud then the champion laughed, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 143 

And as the wind-gusts waft 

The sea-foam brightly, 
So the loud laugh of scorn, 
Out of those lips unshorn, 
From the deep drinking-horn 

Blew the foam lightly. 

She was a Prince's child, 

I but a Viking wild. 

And though she blushed and smiled, 

I was discarded ! 
Should not the dove so white 
Follow the sea-mew's flight. 
Why did they leave that night 

Her nest unguarded? 

Scarce had I put to sea, 
Bearing the maid with me, — 
Fairest of all was she 

Among the Norsemen! — 
When on the white sea-strand. 
Waving his armed hand, 
Saw we old Hildebrand, 

With twenty horsemen. 

Then launched they to the blast, 
Bent like a reed each mast. 
Yet we were gaining fast, 

When the wind failed us: 



144 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

And with a sudden flaw 
Came round the gusty Skaw, 
So that our foe we saw 

Laugh as he hailed us. 

** And as to catch the gale 

Round veered the flapping sail, 
Death! was the helmsman's hail, 

Death without quarter! 
Mid-ships with iron keel 
Struck we her ribs of steel ; 
Down her black hulk did reel 

Through the black water! 

** As with his wings aslant, 
Sails the fierce cormorant, 
Seeking some rocky haunt. 

With his prey laden, 
So toward the open main. 
Beating to sea again. 
Through the wild hurricane, 
Bore I the maiden. 

*' Three weeks we westward bore, 
And when the storm was o'er. 
Cloud-like we saw the shore 
Stretching to lee-ward ; 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 145 

There for my lady's bower 
Built I the lofty tower, 
Which, to this very hour, 

Stands looking sea-ward. 

** There lived we many years; 
Time dried the maiden's tears; 
She had forgot her fears, 

She was a mother; 
Death closed her mild blue eyes, 
Under that tower she lies ; 
Ne'er shall the sun arise 
On such another! 

*' Still grew my bosom then. 
Still as a stagnant fen ! 
Hateful to me were men, 

The sunlight hateful ! 
In the vast forest here, 
Clad in my warlike gear, 
Fell I upon my spear, 

O, death was grateful ! 

"Thus, seamed with many scars, 
Bursting these prison bars, 
Up to its native stars 
My soul ascended ! 

10 Evangeline 



146 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

There from the flowing bowl 
Deep drinks the warrior's soul, 
Skoal! to the Northland! Skoal!"* 
—Thus the tale ended. 

*In Scandinavia this is the customary salutation when drink- 
ing a health. I have slightly changed the orthography of the 
word, in order to preserve the correct pronunciation. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 147 



THE WRECK OF THE HESPERUS. 

It was the schooner Hesperus, 

That sailed the wintry sea; 
And the skipper had taken his little daughter, 

To bear him company. 

Blue were her eyes as the fairy- flax. 
Her cheeks like the dawn of day, 

And her bosom white as the hawthorne buds, 
That ope in the month of May. 

The skipper he stood beside the helm, 

With his pipe in his mouth, 
And watched how the veering flaw did blow 

The smoke now West, now South. 

Then up and spake an old Sailor, 

Had sailed the Spanish Main, 
*'I pray thee, put into yonder port. 

For I fear a hurricane. 

"Last night, the moon had a golden ring. 

And to-night no moon we see!" 
The skipper he blew a whiff from his pipe. 

And a scornful laugh laughed he. 



148 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Colder and louder blew the wind, 

A gale from the Northeast ; 
The snow fell hissing in the brine, 

And the billows frothed like yeast. 

Down came the storm, and smote amain, 

The vessel in its strength ; 
She shuddered and paused, like a frighted 
steed, 

Then leaped her cable's length. 

*' Come hither! come hither! my little daughter, 

And do not tremble so ; 
For I can weather the roughest gale, 

That ever wind did blow." 

He wrapped her warm in his seaman's coat 

Against the stinging blast ; 
He cut a rope from a broken spar. 

And bound her to the mast. 

•*0 father! I hear the church-bells ring, 

O say, what may it be?" 
**'Tis a fog-bell on a rock-bound coast!" 

And he steered for the open sea. 

**0 father! I hear the sound of guns, 

O say, what may it be?" 
**Some ship in distress, that cannot live 

In such an angry sea!" 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 149 

*'0 father! I see a gleaming light, 

O say, what may it be?" 
But the father answered never a word, 

A frozen corpse v/as he. 

Lashed to the helm, all stiff and stark, 

With his face to the skies, 
The lantern gleamed through the gleaming 
snow 

On his fixed and glassy eyes. 

The maiden clasped her hands and prayed 

That saved she might be ; 
And she thought of Christ, who stilled the wave 

On the Lake of Galilee. 

And fast through the midnight dark and drear. 
Through the whistling sleet and snow, 
Like a sheeted ghost, the vessel swept 
Towards the reef of Norman's Woe, 

And ever the fitful gusts between 

A sound came from the land; 
It was the sound of the trampling surf. 

On the rocks and the hard sea-sand. 

The breakers were right beneath her bows, 

She drifted a dreary wreck, 
And a whooping billow swept the crew 

Like icicles from her deck. 



150 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

She struck where the white and fleec}^ waves 

Looked soft as carded wool, 
But the cruel rocks, they gored her side V 

Like the horns of an angry bull. 

Her rattling shrouds, all sheathed in ice, 
With the masts went by the board ; 

Like a vessel of glass, she strove and sank 
Ho! Ho! the breakers roared! 

At daybreak, on the bleak sea-beach, 

A fisherman stood aghast, 
To see the form of a maiden fair, 

Lashed close to a drifting mast. 

The salt sea was frozen on her breast, 

The salt tears in her eyes; 
And he saw her hair, like the brown sea weed 

On the billows fall and rise. 

Such was the wreck of the Hesperus, 

In the midnight and the snow! 
Christ save us all from a death like this, 

On the reef of Norman's Woe! 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 151 



THE LUCK OF EDENHALL. 

FROM THE GERMAN OF UHLAND. 

[The tradition, upon which this ballad is founded, and 

the "shards of the Luck of Edenhall," still exist in Eng- 
land. The goblet is in the possession of Sir Christopher 
Musgrave, Bart. , of Eden Hall, Cumberland ; and is not 
so entirely shattered, as the ballad leaves it.] 

Of Edenhall, the youthful Lord 

Bids sound the festal trumpet's call: 

He rises at the banquet board, 

And cries, 'mid the drunken revelers all, 

*'Now bring me the Luck of Edenhall!" 

The butler hears the words with pain, 
The house's oldest seneschal, 
Takes slow from its silken cloth again 
The drinking glass of crystal tall ; 
They call it the Luck of Edenhall. 

Then said the Lord: "This glass to praise. 

Fill with red wine from Portugal ! ' ' 

The gray-beard with trembling hand obeys; 

A purple light shines over all. 

It beams from the Luck of Edenhall. 



152 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Then speaks the Lord, and waves it light, 
"This glass of flashing crystal tall 
Gave to my sires the Fountain- Sprite; 
She wrote in it: "If this glass doth fall 
Farewell then, O Luck of Edenhall ! 

'"Twas right a goblet the Fate should be 
Of the joyous race of Edenhall ! 
Deep draughts drink we right willingly; 
And willingly ring, with merry call, 
Kling! klang! to the Luck of Edenhall!" 

First rings it deep, and full, and mild, 
Like to the song of a nightingale ; 
Then like the roar of a torrent wild ; 
Then mutters at last like the thunder's fall, 
The glorious Luck of Edenhall. 

"For its keeper takes a race of might. 

The fragile goblet of crystal tall ; 

It has lasted longer than is right ; 

Kling ! klang ! — with a harder blow than all 

Will I try the Luck of Edenhall!" 

As the goblet ringing flies apart, 
Suddenly cracks the vaulted hall ; 
And through the rift, the wild flames start; 
The guests in dust are scattered all, 
With the breaking Luck of Edenhall ! 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. i5S 

In storms the foe, with fire and sword ; 
He in the night had scaled the wall, 
Slain by the sword lies the youthful Lord, 
But holds in his hand the crystal tall, 
The shattered Luck of Edenhall. 

On the morrow the butler gropes alone, 
The gray-beard in the desert hall, 
He seeks his Lord's burnt skeleton 
He seeks in the dismal ruin's fall 
The shards of the Luck of Edenhall. 

"The stone wall," saith he, "doth fall aside, 
Down must the stately columns fall ; 
Glass is this earth's Luck and Pride; 
In atoms shall fall this earthly ball 
One day like the Luck of Edenhall!" 



154 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 



THE ELECTED KNIGHT. 

FROM THE DANISH. 

[The following strange and somewhat mystical ballad 
is from Nyerup and Rahbek's "Danske Viser" of the 
Middle Ages. It seems to refer to the first preaching 
of Christianity in the North, and to the institution of 
Knight-Errantry. The three maidens I suppose to be 
Faith, Hope, and Charity. The irregularities of the 
original have been carefully preserved in the transla- 
tion. 

Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain, 

Full seven miles broad and seven miles 
wide, 
But never, ah never can meet with the man 

A tilt with him dare ride. 

He saw under the hill-side 

A Knight full well equipped ; 
His steed was black, his helm was barred; 

He was riding at full speed. 

He wore upon his spurs 

Twelve little golden birds ; 
Anon he spurred his steed with a clang, 

And there sat all the birds and sang. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 155 

He wore upon his mail 

Twelve little golden wheels; 
Anon in eddies the wild wind blew, 

And round and round the wheels they flew. 

He wore before his breast 

A lance that was poised in rest ; 
And it was sharper than diamond-stone. 

It made Sir Oluf's heart to groan. 

He wore upon his helm 

A wreath of ruddy gold ; 
And that gave him the Maidens Three, 

The youngest was fair to behold. 

Sir Oluf questioned the Knight eftsoon 
If he were come from heaven down ; 

**Art thou Christ of Heaven," quoth he, 
*'So will I yield me unto thee." 

"I am not Christ the Great, 

Thou shalt not yield thee yet; 
I am an Unknown Knight, 

Three modest Maidens have me bedight. '* 

"Art thou a Knight elected. 

And have three Maidens thee bedight, 
So shalt thou ride a tilt this day. 

For all the Maidens' honor!" 



156 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

The first tilt they together rode, 
They put their steeds to the test ; 

The second tilt they tog-ether rode, 
They proved their manhood best. 

The third tilt they together rode, 
Neither of them would yield; 

The fourth tilt they together rode, 
They both fell on the field. 

Now lie the lords upon the plain. 
And their blood runs unto death ; 

Now sit the Maidens in the high tower, 
The youngest sorrows till death. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 157 



THE CHILDREN OF THE LORD'S 
SUPPER. 

FROM THE SWEDISH OF BISHOP TEGNOR. 

Pentecost, day of rejoicing, had come. The 

church of the village 
Stood gleaming white in the morning's sheen. 

On the spire of the belfry. 
Tipped with a vane of metal, the friendly 

flames of the Spring-sun 
Glanced like the tongues of fire, beheld by 

Apostles aforetime. 
Clear was the heaven and blue, and May, with 

her cap crowned with roses. 
Stood in her holiday dress in the fields, and 

the wind and the brooklet 
Murmured gladness and peace, God's-peace! 

With lips rosy-tinted 
Whispered the race of the flowers, and merry 

on balancing branches 
Birds were singing their carol, a jubilant 

hymn to the Highest. 
Swept and clean was the churchyard. Adorned 

like a leaf- woven arbor 



168 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Stood its old-fashioned gate ; and within upon 

each cross of iron 
Hung was a sweet-scented garland, new 

twined by the hands of affection. 
Even the dial, that stood on a fountain among 

the departed 
(There full a hundred years had it stood), was 

embellished with blossoms. 
Like to the patriarch hoary, the sage of his 

kith and the hamlet. 
Who on his birthday is crowned by children and 

children's children. 
So stood the ancient prophet, and mute with 

pencil of iron 
Marked on the table of stone, and measured the 

swift-changing moment, 
While all around at his feet, an eternity slum- 
bered in quiet. 
Also the church within was adorned, for this 

was the season 
In which the young, their parent's hope, and 

the loved-ones of heaven, 
Should at the foot of the altar renew the vows 

of their baptism. 
Therefore each nook and corner was swept and 

cleaned, and the dust was 
Blown from the walls and ceiling, and from 

the oil-painted benches. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 159 

There stood the church like a garden; the 

Feast of the Leafy Pavilions* 
Saw we in living presentment. From noble 

arms on the church wall 
Grew forth a cluster of leaves, and the preach- 
er's pulpit of oak-wood 
Budded once more anev/, as aforetime the rod 

before Aaron. 
Wreathed thereon was the Bible with leaves, 

and the dove, washed with silver, 
Under its canopy fastened, a necklace had on 

of wind-flowers. 
But in front of the choir, round the altar-piece 

painted by Horberg,f 
Crept a garland gigantic; and bright-curling 

tresses of angels 
Peeped, like the sun from a cloud, out of the 

shadowy leaf- work. 
Likewise the lustre of brass, new-polished, 

blinked from the ceiling, 
And for lights there were lilies of Pentecost 

set in the sockets. 
Loud rang the bells already; the thronging 

crowd was assembled 
Far from valleys and hills, to list to the holy 

preaching. 

*The Feast of the Tabernacles; in Swedish "L5ikyddoh5g- 
tiden," the Leaf-huts'-high-tide. 

fThe peasant-painter of Sweden. He is known chiefly by his 
altar-pieces in the village churches. 



160 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Hark ! then roll forth at once the mighty tones 

from the organ, 
Hover like voices from God, aloft like invisible 

spirits. 
Like as Elias in heaven, when he cast off from 

him his mantle, 
Even so cast off the soul its garments of earth ; 

and with one voice 
Chimed in the congregation, and sang an an- 
them immortal 
Of the sublime Wallin,* of David's harp in the 

North-land 
Tuned to the choral of Luther ; the song on its 

powerful pinions 
Took every living soul, and lifted it gently to 

heaven, 
And every face did shine like the Holy One's 

face upon Tabor. 
Lo! there entered then into the church the 

Reverend Teacher. 
Father he hight and he was in the parish ; a 

christianly plainness 
Clothed from his head to his feet the old man 

of seventy winters. 
Priendly was he to behold, and glad as the 

heralding angel 

*A distinguished pulpit-orator and poet. He is particularly 
remarkable for the beauty and sublimity of his psalms. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 161 

Walked he among the crowds, but still a con- 
templative grandeur 

Lay on his forehead as clear, as on a moss-cov- 
ered grave-stone a sunbeam. 

As in his inspiration (an evening twilight that 
faintly 

Gleams in the human soul, even now, from the 
day of creation) 

Th' Artist, the friend of heaven, imagines Saint 
John when in Patmos; — 

Grey, with his eyes uplifted to heaven, so 
seemed then the old man; 

Such was the glance of his eye, and such were 
his tresses of silver. 

All the congregation arose in the pews that 
were numbered. 

But with a cordial look, to the right and the left 
hand, the old man 

Nodding all hail and peace, disappeared in the 
innermost chancel. 

Simply and solemnly now proceeded the 
Christian service. 

Singing and prayer, and at last an ardent dis- 
course from the old man. 

Many a moving word and warning, that out of 
the heart came, 

11 E /iingeline 



162 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Fell like the dew of the morning, like manna 
on those in the desert. 

Afterward, when all w^as finished, the Teacher 
re-entered the chancel, 

Followed therein by the young. On the right- 
hand the boys had their places. 

Delicate figures, with close-curling hair and 
cheeks rosy-blooming. 

But on the left-hand of these, there stood the 
tremulous lilies, 

Tinged with the blushing light of the morning 
the diffident maidens, — 

Folding their hands in prayer, and their eyes 
cast down on the pavement. 

Now came, with question and answer, the cate- 
chism. In the beginning 

Answered the children with troubled and falter- 
ing voice, but the old man's 

Glances of kindness encouraged them soon, and 
the doctrines eternal 

Flowed, like the w^aters of fountains, so clear 
from lips unpolluted. 

Whene'er the answer was closed, and as oft as 
they named the Redeemer, 

Lowly louted the boys, and lowly the maidens 
all courtesied. 

Friendly the Teacher stood, like an angel of 
light there among them. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 163 

And to the children explained he the holy, the 

highest, in few words, 
Thorough, yet simple and clear, for sublimity 

always is simple, 
Both in sermon and song a child can seize on 

its meaning. 
Even as the green-growing bud is unfolded 

when Spring-tide approaches 
Leaf by leaf is developed, and, warmed by the 

radiant sunshine. 
Blushes with purple and gold, till at last the 

perfected blossom 
Opens its odorous chalice, and rocks with its 

crown in the breezes. 
So was unfolded here the Christian lore of sal- 
vation. 
Line by line from the soul of childhood. The 

fathers and mothers 
Stood behind them in tears, and were glad at 

each well-worded answer. 

Now went the old man up to the altar;— and 
straightway transfigured 

(So did it seem unto me) was then the affec- 
tionate Teacher, 

Like the Lord's Prophet sublime, and awful as 
Death and as Judgment 



164 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Stood he, the God-commissioned, the soul- 
searcher, earthward descending, 

Glances, sharp as a sword, into hearts, that to 
him were transparent 

Shot he; his voice was deep, was low like the 
thunder afar off. 

So on a sudden transfigured he stood there he 
spake and he questioned. 

"This is the faith of the Fathers, the faith 
the Apostles delivered, 

This is moreover the faith whereunto I bap- 
tized you, while still ye 

Lay on your mothers' breasts, and nearer the 
portals of heaven. 

vSl Limbering received you then the Holy Church 
in its bosom ; 

Vv'akened from sleep are ye now, and the light 
in its radiant splendor 

Rains from the heaven downward ; — to-day on 
the threshold of childhood 

Kindly she frees you again, to examine and 
make your election, 

For she knows nought of compulsion, only con- 
viction desireth. 

This is the hour of your trial, the turning-point 
of existence, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 165 

Seed for the coming days ; without revocation 

departeth, 
Now from your lips the confession ; Bethink ye, 

before ye make answer! 
Think not, O think not with guile to deceive 

the questioning Teacher. 
Sharp is his eye to-day, and a curse ever rests 

upon falsehood. 
Enter not with a lie on Life's journey; the 

multitude hears you, 
Brothers and sisters and parents, what dear 

upon earth is and holy 
Standeth before your sight as a witness ; the 

Judge everlasting 
Looks from the sun down upon you, and angels 

in waiting beside him 
Grave your confession in letters of fire, upon 

tablets eternal 
Thus then, — believe ye in God, in the Father 

who this world created? 
Him who redeemed it, the Son, and the Spirit 

where both are united? 
Will ye promise me here (a holy promise !) to 

cherish 
God more than all things earthly, and every 

man as a brother? 
Will ye promise me here, to confirm your faith 

by your living, 

12 Evangeline 



166 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Th' heavenly faith of affection! to hope, to 

forgive, and to suffer, 
Be what it may your condition, and walk before 

God in uprightness? 
Will ye promise me this before God and man?" 

— With a clear voice 
Answered the young men Yes! and Yes! with 

lips softly-breathing ; 
Answered the maidens eke. Then dissolved 

from the brow of the Teacher 
Clouds with the thunders therein, and he spake 

on in accents more gentle. 
Soft as the evening's breath, as harps by Baby- 
lon's rivers. 

' ' Hail, then, hail to you all ! To the heirdom 
of heaven be ye welcome ! 

Children no more from this day, but by cove- 
nant brothers and sisters ! 

Yet, — for what reason not children? Of such 
is the kingdom of heaven. 

Here upon earth as assemblage of children, in 
heaven one father, 

Ruling them as his own household, — forgiving 
in turn and chastising, 

That is of human life a picture, as Scripture 
has taught us. 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 167 

Blessed are the pure before God ! Upon purity 

and upon virtue 
Resteth the Christian Faith ; she herself from 

on high is descended. 
Strong as a man and pure as a child, is the sum 

of the doctrine, 
Which the Godlike delivered, and on the cross 

suffered and died for. 
O! as ye wander this day from childhood's 

sacred asylum 
Downward and ever downward, and deeper in 

Age's chill valley, 
O! hov7 soon will ye come, — too soon! — and 

long to turn backward 
Up to its hill-tops again, to the sun-illumined, 

where Judgment 
Stood like a father before you, and Pardon, 

clad like a mother. 
Gave you her hand to kiss, and the loving heart 

was forgiven, 
Life w^as a play and your hands grasped after 

the roses of heaven! 
Seventy years have I lived already; the Father 

eternal 
Gave to me gladness and care ; but the liveliest 

hours of existence. 
When I have steadfastly gazed in their eyes, I 

have instantly known them, 



168 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS, 

Known them all, all again; — they were my 

childhood's acquaintance. 
Therefore take from henceforth, as guides in 

the paths of existence. 
Prayer, with her eyes raised to heaven, and 

Innocence, bride of man's childhood. 
Innocence, child beloved, is a guest from the 

world of the blessed, 
Beautiful, and in her hand a lily ; on life's roar- 
ing billows 
Swings she in safety, she heeded them not, in 

the ship she was sleeping. 
Calmly she gazes around in the turmoil of men ; 

in the desert 
Angels descend and minister unto her; she 

herself knoweth 
Naught of her glorious attendance ; but follows 

faithful and humble. 
Follows so long as she may her friend ; O do 

not reject her, 
For she cometh from God and she holdeth the 

keys of the heavens. — 
Prayer is Innocence' friend; and willingly 

flieth incessant 
'Twixt the earth and the sky, the carrier-pigeon 

of heaven. 
Son of Eternity, fettered in Time, and an 

exile, the Spirit 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 169 

Tugs at his chains evermore, and straggles like 
flames ever upward. 

Still he recalls with emotion his father's mani- 
fold mansions. 

Thinks of the land of his fathers, where blos- 
somed more freshly the flowers, 

Shone a more beautiful sun, and he played 
with the winged angels. 

Then grows the earth too narrow, too close ; and 
homesick for heaven 

Longs the wanderer again; and the Spirit's 
longings are worship; 

Worship is called his most beautiful hour, and 
its tongue is entreaty 

Ah! when the infinite burden of life descend- 
eth upon us. 

Crushes to earth our hope, and, under the 
earth, in the grave-yard, — 

Then it is good to pray unto God ; for his sor- 
rowing children 

Turns he ne'er from his door, but he heals and 
helps and consoles them. 

Yet it is better to pray when all things are 
prosperous with us. 

Pray in fortunate days, for life's most beautiful 
Fortune 

Kneels down before the Eternal's throne; and, 
with hands interfolded, 



170 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Praises thankful and moved the only Giver of 

blessings. 
Or do ye know, ye children, one blessing that 

comes not from Heaven? 
What was mankind forsooth, the poor ! that it 

has not received? 
Therefore, fall in the dust and pray! The 

seraphs adoring 
Cover with pinions six their face in the glory 

of him who 
Hung his masonry pendant on naught, when 

the world he created. 
Earth declareth his might, and the firmament 

uttereth his glory. 
Races blossom and die, and stars fall down- 
ward from heaven, 
Downward like withered leaves; at the last 

stroke of midnight, millenniums 
Lay themselves down at his feet, and he sees 

them, but counts them as nothing. 
Who shall stand in his presence? The wrath 

of the Judge is terrific. 
Casting the insolent down at a glance. When 

he speaks in his anger 
Hillocks skip like the kid, and the mountains 

leap like the roe-buck. 
Yet, — why are ye afraid, ye children? This 

awful avenger, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 171 

Ah! is a merciful God! God's voice was not 

in the earthquake, 
Not in the fire, nor the storm, but it was in the 

whispering breezes. 
Love is the root of creation; God's essence; 

worlds without number 
Lie in his bosom like children ; he made them 

for this purpose only. 
Only to love and to be loved again, he breathed 

forth his spirit 
Into the slumbering dust, and upright stand- 
ing, it laid its 
Hand on its heart, and felt it was warm with 

a flame out of heaven. 
Quench, O quench not that flame ! It is the 

breath of your being. 
Love is life, but hatred is death. Not father, 

nor mother 
Loved you, as God has loved you ; for it was 

that you may be happy 
Gave he his only son. When he bowed down 

his head in the death-hour 
Solemnized Love its triumph; the sacrifice 

then was completed. 
Lo ! then was rent on a sudden the vail of the 

temple, dividing 
Earth and heaven apart, and the dead from 

their sepulchers rising 



172 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Whispered with pallid lips and low in the ears 

of each other 
Th' answer, but dreamed of before, to crea- 
tion's enigma, — Atonement! 
Depths of Love are Atonement's depths, for 

Love is Atonement. 
Therefore, child of mortality, love thou the 

merciful Father ; 
Wish what the Holy One wishes, and not from 

fear, but affection ; 
Fear is the virtue of slaves; but the heart that 

loveth is willing ; 
Perfect was before God, and perfect is Love, 

and Love only. 
Lovest thou God as thou oughtest, then lovest 

thou likewise thy brethren ; 
One is the sun in Heaven, and one, only one is 

Love also. 
Bears not each human figure the godlike stamp 

on his forehead? 
Readest thou not in his face thine origin? Is 

he not sailing 
Lost like thyself on an ocean unknown, and is 

he not guided 
By the same stars that guide thee? Why 

shouldst thou hate then thy brother? 
Hateth he thee, forgive! For 'tis sweet to 

stammer one letter 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 173 

Of the Eternal's language; — on earth it is 

called Forgiveness! 
Knowest thou Him, who forgave, with the 

crown of thorns round his temples? 
Earnestly prayed for his foes, for his murder- 
ers? Say, dost thou know him? 
Ah ! thou conf essest his name, so follow like- 
wise his example, 
Think of thy brother no ill, but throw a vail 

over his failings, 
Guide the erring aright; for the good, the 

heavenly shepherd 
Took the lost lamb in his arms, and bore it 

back to its mother. 
This is the fruit of Love, and it is by its fruits 

that we know it. 
Love is the creature's welfare, with God; but 

Love among mortals 
Is but an endless sigh ! He longs, and endures, 

and stands waiting, 
Suffers and yet rejoices, and smiles with tears 

on his eyelids. 
Hope, — so is called upon earth, his recompense.. 

— Hope, the befriending, 
Does w^hat she can, for she points evermore up 

to heaven, and faithful 
Plunges her anchor's peak in the depths of the 

grave, and beneath it 



174 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Paints a more beautiful world, a dim, but a 

sweet play of shadows ! 
Races, better than we, have leaned on her 

wavering promise. 
Having naught else beside Hope. Then praise 

we our Father in Heaven, 
Him, who has given us more ; for to us has 

Hope been illumined. 
Groping no longer in night ; she is Faith, she 

is living assurance. 
Faith is enlightened Hope; she is light, is the 

eye of affection. 
Dreams of the longing interprets, and carves 

their visions in marble. 
Faith is the sun of life ; and her countenance 

shines like the Prophet's, 
For she has looked upon God, the heaven on 

its stable foundation 
Draws she with chains down to earth, and the 

New Jerusalem sinketh 
Splendid with portals twelve in golden vapors 

descending. 
There enraptured she wanders, and looks at 

the figures majestic. 
Fears not the winged crowd, in the midst of 

them all is her homestead. 
Therefore love and believe; for works will 

follow spontaneous 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 175 

Even as day does the sun ; the Right from the 

Good is an offspring, 
Love in a bodily shape ; and Christian works 

are no more than 
Animate Love and faith, as flowers are the ani- 
mate spring- tide. 
Works do follow us all unto God ; there stand 

and bear witness 
Not what they seemed, — but what they were 

only. Blessed is he who 
Hears their confession secure ; they are mute 

upon earth until death's hand 
Opens the mouth of the silent. Ye children, 

does Death e'er alarm you? 
Death is the brother of Love, twin-brother is 

he, and is only 
More austere to behold. With a kiss upon lips 

that are fading 
Takes he the soul and departs, and rocked in 

the arms of affection, 
Places the ransomed child, new born, 'fore the 

face of its father. 
Sounds of his coming already I hear, — see dimly 

his pinions, 
Swart as the night, but with stars strewn upon 

them ! I fear not before him. 
Death is only release, and in mercy is mute. 
On his bosom 



176 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Freer breathes, in its coolness, my breast ; and 

face to face standing 
Look I on God as he is, a sun unpolluted by 

vapors ; 
Look on the light of the ages I loved, the spirits 

majestic. 
Nobler, better than I ; they stand by the 

throne all transfigured, 
Vested in white, and with harps of gold, and 

are singing an anthem. 
Writ in the climate of heaven^ in the language 

spoken by angels. 
You, in like manner, ye children beloved, he 

one day shall gather, 
Never forgets he the weary ; — then welcome, 

ye loved ones, hereafter ! 
Meanwhile forget not the keeping of vows, 

forget not the promise, 
Wander from holiness onward to holiness ; earth 

shall ye heed not ; 
Earth is but dust and heaven is light ; I have 

pledged you to heaven. 
God of the Universe, hear me ! thou fountain 

of Love everlasting, 
Hark to the voice of thy servant ! I send up 

my prayer to thy heaven ! 
Let me hereafter not miss at thy throne one 

SDirit of all these, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 177 

Whom thou hast given me here ! I have loved 

them all like a father. 
May they bear witness for me, that I taught 

them the way of salvation, 
Faithful, as far as I knew of thy word; again 

may they know me, 
Fall on their Teacher's breast, and before thy 

face may I place them, 
Pure as they now are, but only more tried, and 

exclaiming with gladness, 
Father, lo! lam here, and the children, whom 

thou hast given me!" 

Weeping he spake these words ; and now at 

the beck of the old man 
Knee against knee they knitted a wreath round 

the altar's enclosure. 
Kneeling he read then the prayers of the con- 
secration, and softly 
With him the children read ; at the close, with 

tremulous accents. 
Asked he the peace of heaven, a benediction 

upon them. 
Now should have ended his task for the day ; 

the following Sunday 
Was for the young appointed to eat of the 

Lord's holy Supper. 

12 



178 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Sudden, as struck from the clouds, stood the 
Teacher silent and laid his 

Hand on his forehead, and cast his looks up- 
ward ; while thoughts high and holy 

Flew through the midst of his soul, and his 
eyes glanced with wonderful brightness. 

*'On the next Sunday, who knows! perhaps I 
shall rest in the grave-yard! 

Some one perhaps of yourselves, a lily broken 
untimely, 

Bow down his head to the earth; why delay I? 
the hour is accomplished. 

Warm is the heart ; — I will so ! for to-day grows 
the harvest of heaven. 

What I began accomplish I now ; for what fail- 
ing therein is 

I, the old man, will answer to God and the rev- 
erend father 

Say to me only, ye children, ye denizens new- 
come in heaven, 

Are ye ready this day to eat of the bread of 
Atonement? 

What it denoteth, that know ye full well, I have 
told it you often. 

Of the new covenant a symbol it is, of Atone- 
ment a token, 

'Stablished between earth and heaven. Man by 
his sins and transgressions 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 179 

Far has wandered from God, from his essence. 
'Twas in the beginning 

Fast by the Tree of Knowledge he fell, and it 
hangs its crown o'er the 

Fall to this day; in the Thought is the Fall; 
in the Heart the Atonement. 

Infinite is the Fall, the Atonement infinite like- 
wise. 

See, behind me, as far as the old man remem- 
bers, and forward. 

Far as Hope in her flight can reach with her 
wearied pinions, 

Sin and Atonement incessant go through the 
lifetime of mortals. 

Brought forth is sin full-grown; but Atone- 
ment sleeps in our bosoms 

Still as the cradled babe; and dreams of 
heaven and of angels 

Cannot wake to sensation ; is like the tones in 
the harp's strings. 

Spirits imprisoned, that wait evermore the de- 
liverer's finger. 

Therefore, ye children beloved, descended the 
Prince of Atonement, 

Woke the slumberer from sleep, and he stands 
now with eyes all resplendent, 

Bright as the vault of the sky, and battles with 
Sin and o'ercomes her. 



180 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

Downward to earth he came and transfigured 

thence reascended, 
Not from the heart in likewise, for there he 

still lives in the Spirit, 
Loves and atones evermore. So long as Time 

is, is Atonement. 
Therefore with reverence receive this day her 

visible token. 
Tokens are dead if the things do not live. The 

light everlasting 
Unto the blind man is not, but is born of the 

eye that has vision. 
Neither in bread nor in wine, but in the heart 

that is hallowed 
Lieth forgiveness enshrined; the intention 

alone of amendment. 
Fruits of the earth ennobles to heavenly 

things, and removes all 
Sin and the guerdon of sin. Only Love with 

his arms wide extended, 
Penitence weeping and praying; the Will that 

is tried, and whose gold flows 
Purified forth from the flames ; in a word, man- 
kind by Atonement 
Breaketh Atonement's bread, and drinketh 

Atonement's wine cup. 
But he who cometh up hither, unworthy, with 

hate in his bosom, 



LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 181 

Scoffing at men and at God, is gnilty of Christ's 

blessed body, 
And the Redeemer's blood! To himself he 

eateth and drinketh 
Death and doom! And from this, preserve 

lis, thou heavenly Father! 
Are ye ready, ye children, to eat of the bread 

of Atonement?" 
Thus with emotion he asked, and together an- 
swered the children 
Yes! with deep sobs interrupted. Then read 

he the due supplications, 
Read the Form of Communion, and in chimed 

the organ and anthem; 
O! Holy Lamb of God, who takest away our 

transgressions, 
Hear us ! give us thy peace ! have mercy, have 

mercy upon us ! 
Th' old man, with trembling hand, and heav- 
enly pearls on his eyelids. 
Filled now the chalice and paten, and dealt 

round the mystical symbols. 
O ! then seemed it to me, as if God, with the 

broad eye of mid-day, 
Clearer looked in at the windows, and all the 

trees in the churchyard 
Bowed down their summits of green, and the 

grass on the graves 'gan to shiver. 



188 LONGFELLOW'S POEMS. 

But in the children ( I noted it v/ell ; I knew 

it ) there ran a 
Tremor of holy rapture along through their 

icy-cold members. 
Decked like an altar before them, there stood 

the green earth, and above it 
Heaven opened itself, as of old before 

Stephen ; there saw they 
Radiant in glory the Father, and on his right 

hand the Redeemer. 
Under them hear they the clang of harp- 
strings, and angels from gold clouds 
Beckon to them like brothers, and fan with 

their pinions of purple. 

Closed was the Teacher's task, and with 

heaven in their hearts and their faces, 
Up rose the children all, and each bowed 

him, weeping full sorely, 
Downward to kiss that reverend hand, but 

all of them pressed he 
Moved to his bosom, and laid, with a prayer, 

his hands full of blessings. 
Now on the holy breast, and now on the 

innocent tresses. 



WORKS OF ELLA WHEELER liLCOX (Contmned) 

HOW SALVATOR WON AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo, 
cloth, $1.00. Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold 
top, $1,50. Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, 
$2.50. 

A choice collection of recitations, specially compiled for read- 
ers and impersonators. 

"Her name is a household word. Her great power lies in depict- 
ing human emotions ; and in handling that grandest of all passions 
—love— she wields the pen of a master."— T/ie Saturday Record. 

CUSTER AND OTHER POEMS. Handsomely illustrated. 
12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation Edition — white vellum, 
gold top. $1.50. Presentation Edition— half calf, gold 
top, $2.50. 

A grand epic of the exploits and massacre of the immortal 
Custer. 

"One cannot help gaining new impetus for the spiritual exist- 
ence from coming in contact, mentally, with such ideal sentiments 
and emotions as this rarely gifted poetess voices in magniiicent 
\eYBe.'"— Universal Truth. 

AN ERRING WOMAN'S LOVE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1,50. 
Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 

'"Power and pathos characterize this magnificent poem. A 
deep understanding of life and an intense sympathy are beauti- 
faiiy expressed."— Tri^wne. 

MEN, WOMEN AND EMOTIONS. (Prose.) 12mo, heavy 
enameled paper cover, 50 cents ; English cloth, $1.00. 
A skillful analysis of social habits, customs and follies. 
"Her fame has reached all parts of the world, and her popular- 
ity seems to grow with each succeeding year." — American Newsman. 

TEE BEAUTIFUL LAND OF NOD. (Poems, songs and 

stories.) With over sixty original illustrations. Quarto, 

cloth, $1.00. 

The delight of the nursery. A charming mother's book. 

"The foremost baby s book of the -world."— New Orleans 
Picayune. 

PRESENTATION SETS. Poems of Passion, Maurine, 
Poems of Pleasure, How Salvator Won. and Custer, are 
supplied in sets of 3, 4, or 5 titles, as may be desired, in 
neat boxes, without extra charge. 

ELLA WHEELER WILCOX ' S WORKS are for sale by leading book- 
sellers everywhere, or will be sent postpaid on receipt of price by 
ti^e Publishers. 

W. B. CONKBY COMPANY, Chicago 



W. 8. GoNKEY Comrs FoBLiGerioHS 

COMPLETE LIST OF THE POETIC AND PROSE 

WORKS OF 

Ella Wheeler Wilcox 



POEMS OF PASSION. 12mo, cloth, $1.CX). Presentation 
Edition— white vellum, gold top. $1.50. Presentation 
Edition — half calf, gold top. $2.50. 

POEMS OF PASSION. Quarto, cloth. Illustrated 
Edition, $1.50. 

POEMS OF PASSION. Pocket Edition. Illustrated— 16mo, 
cloth, 75 cents; full morocco, gold edges, $2.50. 
Human nature is less of a mystery after the reading of this book 
"Only a woman of genius could produce such a remarkable 

'WOtIl."— Illustrated London News. 

MAURINE AND OTHER POEMS. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 
Presentation Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1.50. 
Presentation Edition — half calf, gold top. $2.50. 
Beautiful thoughts and healthy inspiration in every line. 
"Maurine is an ideal poem about a perfect woman."— T/ieScmf/i. 

POEMS 05 PLEASURE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presenta- 
tion Edition — white vellum, gold top, $1.50. Presenta- 
tion Edition — half calf, gold top, $2.50. 
These poems make life doubly sweet and cheerful. 
"Mrs. Wilcox is an artist with a touch that reminds one of 

Lord Byron's impassionate strains."— Paris Register. 

THREE WOMEN. 12mo, cloth, $1.00. Presentation 
Edition — art binding, gold top, boxed, $1.50. 
Her latest and greatest poem. This marvelous narrative of 

thrilling interest depicts the lives of three good and beautiful 

women in every phase of weakness, passion, pride, love, sympathy 

and tenderness. 

AN AMBITIOUS MAN. (Prose.) 12mo, cloth, $1.00. 

'*Vivid realism stands forth from every page of this fascinating 
book."— Every Day. 



